#suede bar stool

[parkeremerson]

Modern Kitchen - Kitchen Mid-sized modern enclosed kitchen design featuring a travertine floor, a beige floor, flat-panel cabinets, quartz countertops, paneled appliances, an island, brown cabinets, and a window backsplash.

[geniewithwifi]

Great Room Kitchen

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [15K] PART TWO OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

tw: mentions of pregnancy, slight steddie.

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Five weeks. 

You didn’t see Steve for five weeks. Not for lack of looking. The Lake House was astoundingly quieter with the loss of the youngest Harrington and his friends, the bar empty, the Macallan well stocked and poker nights were taken over by the older generation. You didn’t see him on the golf course, nor in the spa. He didn’t frequent the smoking lounge and you didn’t see him at the bar. Gone was his maroon BMW from the parking lot and on the one, stupid occasion where you’d swallowed all your shame, you drove past his townhouse after a late night shift and you weren’t sure if you were disappointed or relieved to see it sitting in the dark, empty.

You hadn’t exchanged numbers that night, still, the radio silence was infuriating. But hey, at least he wasn’t just plain avoiding you. 

Which you realised when he waltzed in one Tuesday before lunch service, more tanned than ever, white shirt sleeves rolled up, tan trousers perfectly tailored. His eyes were on you immediately, his hair longer than you’d last seen him, like he’d been so busy he hadn’t had time to get it cut. Strands of it fell into his eyes and he swept them out of the way with a grin as he approached the bar. More so a smirk, really. And it irked you, his smirk, his pretty brown eyes, his perfectly messy hair, his sunkissed skin and don’t give a fuck attitude. 

He leant on the bar like he owned it, elbows pressed to the wood, hands clasped in front of him so the gold ring glinted in the afternoon sun. He didn’t say anything, he just waited, watching as you finished polishing a wine glass and put it back on the glass shelf. 

You cleared your throat and didn’t bother to smile, but the voice you spoke in was very much reserved for customer service. “Good afternoon, sir. What can I get you?”

You watched as Steve’s eyes flashed a little darker, amused and something else. He let out a soft laugh, like he thought you were funny. Like he thought your cold indifference was hilarious. So he played along, sliding onto one of the suede stools. The bar room was somewhat empty, most of the members either gathering for lunch in the sun room or soaking up the last of the warm weather on the golf course. It was quiet, and the tension between the two of you could fill the entire manor. 

“A Macallan, please,” Steve answered, just as politely. 

He was still watching every move you made, eyes raking over your legs, the fit of your dress over your hips, the swell of your ass when you turned and reached up for the bottle of scotch. You smiled, a sardonic press of your lips that didn’t meet your eyes when you asked him, “would you like ice with that?”

Steve really laughed then, but there was an edge to it that told you were getting under his skin. If he wanted to leave the country for over a month after blowing your mind in his fancy living room like it was no big deal, well— you could pretend you don’t care. Or better yet, didn’t even remember him. 

“No ice,” he said and before you could pour, he waved his hand for you to stop. “Actually, you know what? I’d prefer the forty year. You have that right, honey?”

You did. But it was in the back, behind a heavy, locked door. The forty year old scotch could go for thirty thousand dollars a bottle. You tried not to look surprised, or worse, impressed. So you nodded instead and told him, “of course, sir. Please bear with me.”

But when you left the bar to walk towards the door that was marked ‘employees only,’ Steve was behind you. You watched him lean against the wall as you fumbled with your key card, pressing it once, twice - fuck - three times against the pad before it buzzed. And when you pushed the door open and Steve caught it, slipping in behind you, your cold indifference turned to anger. 

Who did he think he was? Did he think he was that untouchable?

“This is employees only,” you hissed at him, panicking at the thought of someone else - god forbid, your boss - catching you in the hallway with him. 

Like they’d be able to tell you’d gone to his late one night, that you’d stood and stripped for him in front of his big fireplace and bigger TV, like they’d find out he’d put his mouth on you and made to you come harder than  anyone else ever ha—

But Steve just sighed, a long suffering thing that made your hackles rise up that little bit higher. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Honey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He brushed past you, hands in his pockets, walking down the corridor towards the locked room where the high value liquor was kept. “No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Now, come on.”

You didn’t want to obey, you didn’t want to do as he said. But you were at a loss. He looked so good and smelled so nice, clean and like the ocean, like sunscreen, like he’d just stepped off the plane from whatever Italian city he’d been hiding in and came straight to you. So you didn’t say anything, you just straightened up and let the clickclickclick of your heels fill the silence as you edged past him again and walked towards the door. 

He didn’t let you reach it before he started talking again, a lazy drawl that matched his slow walk, an effortless thing that suited his linen trousers and effortlessly rumpled shirt. Even the lock of hair that fell across his forehead looked artfully placed. 

“Aren’t you going to ask where I’ve been?” 

You clenched your jaw. “No.”

You heard him laugh and the sound made your hand slip from where it tried to remember the combination for the door. He was so sure of himself, so sure and so confident that you’d spent the last five weeks thinking of him and where he was and what he was doing and who he was with—

“So rude today, honey. You don’t want to hear about the business deals I secured? The money I made?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. You kept your back to him, body stiff, mind positivity empty as you tried to recall the fucking code. You could sense him getting closer, body heat crowding yours, his cologne, his scent, like he’d bottled an Italian summer and sprayed it all over himself. 

“No,” you repeated. Blunt, short, cold. 

“What if I brought you back a present, wouldn’t you want to know then?”

He was behind you now, a towering presence, intimidating even when you weren’t looking at him. His chest brushed your back, a solid, warm thing that you wanted to melt against. But you kept yourself strong, hoping he couldn’t see your shaking hands as you tried another series of numbers. Steve’s hand came up to your neck, sweeping away the hair there, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin. 

The keypad beeped at you in protest, another denied entry. 

“You’re not like the other girls, are you, honey?”

You braced yourself, waiting for the speech about how you were different from the others, better in whatever way Steve deemed appropriate. Prettier, maybe. Smarter, quirkier, some kind of compliment that was supposed to make you preen for him. 

 Steve tsked and moved closer, his nose brushing the nape of your neck. “No, you don’t want my money. You’re not interested, huh? You don’t want the cash, the presents, no diamonds, no five thousand dollar shoes. You don’t want the cars or the houses or the yachts or the ring on your finger, huh?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer. Steve’s little speech didn’t go the way you assumed. The boy spun you suddenly, backing you into the wall as he took your chin in his hold, heated skin between a finger and his thumb, his nose and lips trailing over your cheek, your temple. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. You waited. 

“No, honey, you just want fucked, don’t you?” 

His lips were at your ear, trailing over the shell of it and you couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered, heading lolling back until it thudded against the wall. You were breathing funny, your body boneless. How did you fucking get here?

Steve grinned even though you couldn’t see, teeth on your jaw instead. He took your hand from where it lay limp by your side and brought it to his crotch, cupping it between his own and his cock, the hard length of him pushing against his slacks and your small hand. “You just want this, right?” His teeth nipped at you and you scrunched your face in pleasure, lips parting. “Tell me.”

You folded, a new kind of girl from the one that stood at the bar, brushing him off and pretending you couldn’t recall the way you came on his tongue. You nodded, brows knitted together, like you were ready to beg. Maybe you were. “Yeah,” you answered breathily. “I want it.”

Steve kissed your cheek, a sweet thing, a sudden and shocking touch. “Want what? Wanna hear it, honey, c’mon.”

Heat rushed through you, clinging to your cheeks, your neck. You squirmed, embarrassed and turned on, even more embarrassed that you were throbbing at his words. You blinked at him. “Want your cock,” you whispered. 

“Smart girl,” he cooed. “Clever girl. Such a good fucking girl.” Steve let go of your chin, used his fingertips to brush your hair back and draw a line down your jaw. He pressed another kiss, to your chin this time, a fleeting thing that you tried to chase. You wanted to taste him. “That’s better isn’t it? So much better when you play nice. Where do you want it? Hm? Wanna suck it for me, honey? Want to feel it down your throat?” Steve tsked, his voice low and controlled despite the filth he was muttering against your cheek. “No, no, you want it inside of you, right? My baby wants fucked, right?”

Baby. My baby. It didn’t feel like a pet name, not really. Not like the way he said ‘honey,’ like melted candy on his tongue. No. This felt like ownership. 

You were throbbing from the inside out, your brain buzzing, a white noise kind of sound that tuned out everything bar Steve’s voice, his words, that awfully fucking pretty cadence that made you feel like you were one step away from getting in trouble. You don’t know why you loved it, why it made your toes curl, your lips part and a whine get stuck in your throat. 

“Fuck, Steve,” you clawed at his shoulders, nails scraping over his shirt, creasing the expensive linen. You didn’t care. “Yeah, please, I want that.”

“Oh, it’s Steve, now, is it?” The boy laughed a little meanly, grabbing at your hips to turn you for him, your chest pressed to the wall as he made sure your ass stayed popped out for him. He traced the pretty arch of your back, rocked his dick against the curve of your ass cheek and squeezed. “I think I preferred ‘sir.’ Made you sound so much more agreeable.”

You just moaned. A sound you’d never heard yourself make, an animalistic thing, wrecked sounding and it made Steve beam. “Oh honey, you’re filthy, aren’t you? You’d let me fuck you right here, wouldn’t you?” His hands found the hem of your dress and cool air hit the tops of your thighs as he started lifting it up. 

You didn’t care. You didn’t fucking care. 

Your cheek was pressed to the wall, Lake House green paint under the press of your palms and you remained pliant for Steve, back arched and legs spreading a little, ready for him to pull your underwear to the side and slip his cock inside of you. You wanted it, you needed it—

“I’m not gonna fuck you here, pretty girl, not yet.” Steve was at your ear again, whispering against the shell of it, his fingers grabbing a handful of your ass under your dress as he squeezed and pulled at the dough of it. “Gonna take my time with you for that. Going to make sure I ruin you.”

Disappointment washed over you like a bucket of cold water. It was sobering and his words made you whine, a desperate noise that the staff corridor of The Lake House should never have heard. You turned on your own volition, gazing at Steve with heavy lidded eyes and you were pleased to see he looked the same. Cheeks pink, lips parted, his chest moving a little quicker than before. You remembered the way he’d taken charge that night, how he’d just assumed you’d come home with him after the poker game, how he’d sat in front of you, sprawled on his big sofa as he watched you take off your clothes for him. 

How he’d told you to. 

And then he’d made you come undone, unravelling against his mouth as he whispered dirty things to you, leaving you fuzzy and hazy as he dropped you home, seemingly unaffected. You wanted that power back, you wanted to see him too far gone to remember how much money he had in the bank. 

So you pressed your palms to his chest and smoothed down his shirt collar before you dropped to your knees in front of him. It should’ve been a submissive thing, most people would assume it was. You, kneeling below the rich man, the man who had wealth and connections and an entire legacy built on just his name. You, the girl who was paid to serve him from behind a bar, pouring drinks that you’d ever be able to afford, on the floor in front of him. 

But when you looked back up at Steve, his cocky expression had changed to one of awe. Genuine surprise showed in his eyes, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he blinked at you, dreamlike, hazy, fuzzy. Just like he’d made you feel. You brought your hands to the front of his trousers, finger teasing the button there before he slumped forward a little and braced his hands on the very wall he’d pushed you up against. He nodded, mumbled something that sounded like ‘please.’

Victory. 

You looked back at the door you’d come through, no windows in the wood, but still thin enough that could hear the grand piano playing in the dining room, the distant tinkling of china teapots against porcelain teacups. Anyone could walk in. You’d get fired. Or worse.

The button popped under your finger and thumb, and the zipper whispered in the quiet when you tugged it down. Steve groaned, a heavy, hot sound that made the slick between your thighs worsen. He was leaning over you, head bowed between the arms that held him up, his full lips pink and parted as he stared down at you. You waited for some sort of instruction, an order, some filthy kind of praise but instead, he just watched. 

Powerless. 

You flattened a palm against his cock, hard and warm under the cotton of his black Calvin Kleins, your other hand braced on his thigh. You looked up, one brow raised, a silent question even as the solid length of him kicked up against your touch. 

“Yes,” he rasped, nodding. “Yeah, honey, go ‘head.”

You worked fast, the rest of the club a far away murmur behind the locked door as Steve’s heavy breaths took over your senses instead. You dragged the band of his underwear down, his cock slapping up against his stomach. He was huge, thick and long and hard to wrap your fingers around and you hated that he had another reason to walk around acting like he fucking owned the world. 

But you wanted the power back and you grasped him in your fist, pumping him against your palm as he tried to stop his hips from bucking forward. You wanted Steve like putty, yours to play with, you wanted him to fall apart as fast and as hard as he made you. 

So you skipped the teasing, leaning forward to lick a broad stripe across the head of his cock, salt on your tongue and he swore, hips jerking when you opened your mouth and let him slide past your lips. You worked quick, heart racing from the adrenline of sucking someone off during working hours, hidden in a place you weren’t supposed to be. This was stupid, it was so fucking stupid but the stretch of your jaw around Steve’s cock was delicious, the sounds he was making even better. He was gasping your name, his voice hoarse, his eyes barely able to stay open but his lashes fluttered and he made sure he watched the way his cock disappeared in and out your mouth, over and over again. 

Your nails scratched at his thighs, making him hiss, your free hand pumping the length of him that you couldn’t nudge into your throat. It was wet and messy, a filthy thing that made his brain malfunction ‘cause you were looking up at him the whole time with big, doe eyes and your pretty, little dress was splayed over your thighs. You looked like sin, you looked like his own personal wet dream and you were tracing your tongue along the underside of his cock as the head of it hit the back of your throat and—

“Oh my god,” Steve growled. One hand fell from the wall to grasp your head, not pushing, not guiding. Just twisting into your hair and holding on for dear fucking life. “Oh, fuck, m’gonnacome.”

It had barely been five minutes and a new sort of determination flushed through you. You were soaked, inner thighs wet from the heat of Steve’s stare, from the weight of his cock on your tongue and god, he was tipping his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned, fingers tightening in your hair as he realised you were doubling down on your efforts and not pulling off. 

“In your mouth, honey, yeah?” His voice was a little higher, breathier, so much less than controlled that it ever had been. “Gonna come in that pretty mouth, that smart, little mouth, hm? Please? Gonna swallow it all for me?”

You hummed in agreement, refusing to take you lips away from him, bringing a hand to cup his balls as you worked your mouth around him, rolling them in your palm. Steve twitched against your tongue, hips jerking forward as he gasped out everything from a prayer, to your name, to a curse. He came hard and sudden, his jaw hanging slack as he stared down at you, watching with a greedy sort of awe as he spilled over your tongue. You made a show of it for him, lips parting and mouth open as you pumped what you could out of him, letting him see it cover your tongue before you swallowed. 

And as he stood, barely keeping himself up, breathless and speechless, you tucked him back into his trouser, soft and spent. You stood primly, caged between his arms as you smoothed down your skirt and met his gaze. He looked a little wild, a little wrecked and he swore under his breath when you licked your lips, using your thumb to politely swipe at the corner of your mouth, like a lady at high tea, not a girl who’d just sucked the fucking life from him. 

Neither of you spoke. You weren’t sure Steve could. So you ducked under his arm and walked away, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as you tried to make sure he couldn’t seen the way your legs shook. Chin high, smile victorious, you didn’t look back before you slipped out of the door and out to the bar. It took a while for Steve to appear, face still a little flushed, but he’d brushed back his hair and smoothed out any wrinkles in his shirt, his trouser buttoned back up but his eyes gave him away. 

They were glittering, trained on you as he came through the employees only door like he owned the entire building. 

He didn’t care that you were serving Mr and Mrs St. Clair there afternoon martinis. No, he walked right up to the bar and tapped his fingers on the wood, vying for your attention. You gave it easily, gaze on Steve instead of the cocktail shaker you were filling with ice. 

“What time do you finish?” He asked, voice still rough. 

You swallowed tightly, eyes flitting to the older couple who weren’t paying you much mind. Not when their drinks weren’t ready yet. “Seven,” you told him.

Steve nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

—————

That’s how it went. 

No labels, not much talking - not about anything too serious anyway, like the future. Just a whirlwind you couldn’t really call a romance because Steve Harrington had fucked you in every room of his house, every car he parked in his too big garage, but he’d never kissed your lips. You’d found that Steve didn’t really do sweet unless it came with some kind of condescending tone that made your toes curl, surprising you on the odd occasion with a sudden fondness that even shocked him. But still, no kisses. He’d kiss you everywhere else, forehead often resting against yours as you both caught your breaths, his cock still inside you. You’d feel his nose bump your own, a soft touch, an intimate thing. But he’d pull back when you’d lift your chin a little, mouth searching for his like he hadn’t just been gasping into it. 

He didn’t really hold your hand or call you his girlfriend but he knew your favourite wine, an expensive Chardonnay he liked to buy you by the crate, along with flowers you hadn’t even seen before, colourful blooms that looked like they belonged in a magazine. He’d place his hand on the small of your back when he took you out to restaurants, cocktail bars full of business men that only he knew. Away from Hawkins, always in the front of one of his cars, each one faster and shinier than the last. Dining rooms with chandeliers and low lights, pillar candles on white table cloths and five forks each. 

He showed you off, surprising you with silk dresses and red bottomed heels that you told him off for, but Steve would kiss your neck, your bare shoulder and whisper how he wanted to take the pretty dress off of you later, how he wanted you in nothing but Louboutin’s. His touch was possessive, dirty, sometimes surprisingly caring, a gentleman that opened your car doors for you, who pulled out your chair for you to sit. 

 But no, he never kissed your lips. 

And when he was spending days and weeks in Rome, Milan, Cannes, New York, Los Angeles, Singapore, St. Martin, well. When was there time to talk about relationships?

Steve Harrington was private jets and brand new Bentley’s. He was a special edition Rolex and had his family's name outside Hawkin’s city hall on a gold plaque. He was silk, leather, polished shoes and freshly ironed shirts. Gold, suede, expensive cologne, yachts in Monaco, a villa in the hills of the French Riviera. But he wasn’t your boyfriend. 

No. He was thousand dollar bottles of whisky, business deals in San Tropez, a private beach club in Marbella. He was parties. He was the party. Cocktail nights with the elite, a grown up rager in someone's mansion, where chandeliers swung from ornate ceilings and the stairs were painted in gold leaf, littered with coked up rich kids who were using daddie’s hundred dollar bills to fill their noses. 

Like the one you were at now, the thumpthumpthump of far away music still managing to reach you three floors up. The entire house was filled with art, a gallery more than a home and twenty something year olds made the place look too messy, black ties loose around men’s necks as girls walked around the marble floors barefoot, bottles of Moët clutched in their hands, each one looking for someone else to fuck. Grecian statues were thrown like footballs, busts of women from too long ago used as something to take a line off of and there were five people in the pool outside, naked, drunk, all taking turns touching each other. 

It was debauchery at its finest. At its richest. 

It was Eddie’s idea. 

He’d invited Steve who’d then picked you up in a car you hadn’t seen before, a deep green Camaro with tan leather seats. It was already late, later than you’d like to have left for the beginning of a night out but Eddie promised a good time and the possibility of a new business venture for Steve.  

The house had been an hour out of town, nestled off into the countryside between a forest and a lake, the long driveway spot lit as it led to the huge brick manor. You’d walked through the door behind Eddie, Steve’s hand on your back as he coaxed you inside and into the chaos. Music, bodies, champagne flutes overflowing on a round table in the foyer, marble flooring, tapestries on the walls, spilled glitter on the stairway and money littering a desk, poker chips on the floor. 

No one greeted you, no one looked at you. But someone slapped Steve on the shoulder and Eddie shook a guy's hand, a bag of white powder exchanged for a rolled up wad of cash. No words were said. So Steve grabbed a mottle of Moët from a tabletop and took your hand, only to lead you up the stairs and Eddie followed, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he winked at the girl on the landing that you all had to step over. 

An empty room, champagne bubbles, two men. 

The bed was huge, a canopy style thing with too many pillows and with gold stitched quilts. Red drapes and low lights, a thick carpet that you dug your toes into when you slipped off your heels and then fell onto the mattress. Eddie followed, tipsy, boisterous, laughing as he did. Steve lazed in an armchair in the corner, long legs splayed out in front of him as he sipped from the bottle, his eyes on the way the hem of your dress slipped up your thighs. 

“How does Steve’s little friend like the lifestyle?” Eddie asked you, grinning. “Is the Moët to your taste, sweetheart?” He was teasing and you knew that, teasing in a lighter way than Steve would because he was smiling and his eyes were kind, his cheek pushed to the bedding as he waited for your answer. 

You took the bottle from Steve and let the bubbles slide down your throat, the fizziness tickling the roof of your mouth and it wasn’t sweet enough. Still, you took it greedily, wetting your lips before you dropped the empty bottle onto the floor with a thud. “I prefer Chardonnay, but it’ll do,” you joked back. 

Eddie laughed and then hummed. He appraised you thoughtfully before his eyes flickered to Steve, dark in the dim light. “Oh yeah, Mr Harrington was kind enough to buy you a whole case of it, huh? I saw the order, sweetheart don’t get flustered.” Eddie reached out to brush a stand of your hair away from your face and from the corner of your eye, you saw Steve sit up a little straighter. “He’s real nice, isn’t he? Likes to spoil a pretty girl like you.”

“Eddie,” Steve’s voice was a warning. 

“Right?” he continued, nodding at you like you’d agreed. You simply watched him from the bed, breath hitching a little when he propped himself onto one elbow so he could look down at you, one finger tracing up and down your forearm. “Jewellery, flowers, nice dinners, nicer dresses,” he trailed off, plucking at the strap of your black dress. “Pretty things for pretty girls. He doesn’t kiss you though, does he?”

The air was sucked out of the room and Steve bristled. “Eddie.”

Eddie ignored him. He tutted sympathetically, pouting at you. “He hasn’t, has he? He never does, some weird rule he has.” You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. But you gasped quietly when Eddie traced a finger over your bottom lip, tugging at it gently until he let it go and it fell back into place with a soft ‘pop’. “Such a shame.”

He pulled away slightly to look back at Steve, who was sitting forward in the chair now, his elbows braved on his knees as he stared at Eddie with a dark expression. Like he was waiting. Warning him. But he didn’t say anything, so Eddie turned back to you. 

“D’you know that Steve and I share things?”

You shook your head, wishing you had the sense to sit up, to collect yourself, to pull the hem of your damn dress down because the warm air that was trapped inside the room - between these two men - was heating up the skin on your thighs. 

“Yeah,” Eddie explained. “Shares, stocks, cars… girls.” He leaned down again, nose bumping against your temple as he whispered theatrically into your, loud enough for Steve to hear. “He likes me more than Hargrove, you see.”

You could hear a pin drop. 

“Do you think he’d let me kiss you, sweetheart? I bet he would.” Eddie was on his hands and knees now, crawling over you, hovering just above, hands braced on either side of your head and he grinned at the way your pupils grew a little bigger, a little darker. Both of you turned your heads to the side, your cheeks pressed to the expensive Egyptian cotton and you both looked at Steve. You weren’t sure what for. For a scolding, for a fight, for approval. 

“C’mon, Harrington,” Eddie broke the silence. “She’s not your girl, is she? You gonna let me taste her? Seeing as you don’t? Bet she’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

Steve let out a huff of breath, his eyes flashing as he gripped the arm of the chair too tight. He sat back into the leather, shoulders stiff and lips in a straight line. “I know how she tastes, Munson, trust me.”

The way they spoke about you like you weren’t there made your skin tingle, an electric current that ran through your bones and you were buzzing, fizzing - but that might’ve been the champagne. But still, Eddie continued, playing Steve until he was flushed in the face with an emotion you couldn’t place. 

“Yeah but those lips look pretty fucking biteable,” Eddie whispered and he ducked his head down, nose brushing yours, lips parting when yours did on instinct. ���Could eat her up. Like a little peach, huh?”

Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t stop it. He just sat and stared, cock stirring in his trousers because this is how these parties went and this wasn’t the first time he’d watched his friend take the girl he’d brought on a bed. In fact, this was tame compared to the other nights, lines of coke and whisky on a bedside table, his cock buried in some strange girl's mouth as Eddie took her from behind, shirt buttons ripped open and matching red lipstick on both their chests. 

This was different. It felt different. 

But still, he stayed quiet. 

“You just want a kiss, don’t you?” Eddie cooed as he kept close, nuzzling his nose to your cheek, making sure his lips brushed across your when he moved to the other side. Your hands curled around the outside of his thighs where he kneeled over you, keeping him there, holding tight. You could see Steve out of your peripheral. “Pretty thing like you just wants some lovin’, I know it.”

Then slowly, as if allowing you - or Steve - to stop him, Eddie moved in, kissing your top lip before moving to your bottom, a barely there thing before he was kissing you properly, mouth pushing against yours. He angled his face so Steve could see, so the other boy on the armchair could watch the way he parted his lips and opened your own with his tongue, licking into you in a way that made your back arch. Steve watched the black silk of your dress - the one he bought you - meet Eddie’s shirt, matching colours, black as midnight. Ink on skin, moving against a stranger's sheets. Nipples pebbling against the material as Eddie dragged one of his hands down your sides, lifting your arm up and keeping it above your head so he could drag his fingers down the side of your breast, the material pulling tight over your skin. 

He followed the curve of it, made you gasp into his mouth and then he was groaning, whispering something about how sweet you were, his tongue sweeping over your own before he was ripped away from you. 

Steve had Eddie by the scruff of his shirt, hauling him off of the bed and you until he staggered into the other boy, grinning like this was all the funniest game in the world. You were panting, lips still glossy from Eddie’s kiss, eyes wide with shock because Steve was pulling himself up to his full height, shoulder squared, chin tilted up. 

His nose almost touched Eddie’s. 

“S’wrong, Harrington?” Eddie whispered. He was goading, excited, too amused. “She’s not your girl, right?” Their chests touched but Eddie didn’t back down, still grinning, curls mussed from where he’d lay on the bed with you, your gloss smeared across his own lips, a pretty pink that matched the flush across his cheeks. “You normally don’t mind sharing, dude, what’s the problem?”

Steve’s nostrils flared and he was breathing a little heavier, gaze flickering to you as you sat up and smoothed down your dress, your hair. Part of you wanted to get between the boys, soothe whatever was about to start, but something inside of you wanted to hear what Steve had to say. You stared back at him, feeling too hot, too exposed but you waited, gaze hard on him. 

“Quit playin’, Eddie,” Steve warned and he took one step back, standing in the middle of you and the other boy. He looked flustered, a little put together than he normally did, his eyes dark and his cheeks heated, his back too stiff and he shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the way they were balled into fists. “I’m not in the mood.”

But Eddie kept smiling, hands held out in front of him as if he were surrendering but he continued to smile, eyes shining as kept talking, voice lilting. “Poor thing just wanted a kiss, man, only giving her what you don’t. Sorta mean, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t say anything, you just watched as Steve glared and Eddie grinned, the room filled with something more than faded music, empty champagne bottles and all the leftover bubbles. Tension fizzed in the corners, it made the walls crack and split, it made your chest turn a little too tight. 

“Like I said,” Eddie gestured to you, eyes flirting up and down your frame appreciatively before turning back to Steve, “s’not like she’s your girl, is she?”

The thump of a bassline from two floors down, faint splashes from a pool outside the open window, the smash of a glass. But silence from Steve. 

“Am I?” 

Your voice sounded so much smaller than you wanted it to but you stared at Steve as you watched his jaw tense and flex. He closed his eyes and said something under his breath, something you couldn’t hear, pressing his thumb to the corner of his eye before he faced you. 

“We’ve, uh,” he swallowed and reached for another cigarette. “We’ve spoken about this, honey.” He said it calmly, casually, like you should’ve known better. 

But you had spoken about it at all. Not really. Steve’s silence said more than words and when he only pressed kisses to your cheek, to the insides of your thighs and side of your neck, you’d finally gotten the hint. Steve Harrington didn’t get attached. He didn’t do relationships. He was too busy, and spent too much time between too many cities, too many countries. Steve Harrington had yachts and cars and penthouses and villas. But he didn’t have girlfriends. Not just one, anyway. 

You should’ve known. You had known. But hearing it aloud made it hurt that little bit more. So you nodded as if you agreed and when Steve lit the cigarette and let it hang between his lips, you stared at the floor as he stared at you. Then he was nodding towards the door and expecting you to follow him. 

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t move. Eddie chuckled, a dark thing that made Steve glare at him but he looked over at you, cigarette between his fingers as it turned down quicker than he could smoke it. “Honey, let’s go.”

You still didn’t move. 

So Steve looked at you and then he looked at Eddie and scoffed, waving a dismissive hand before he left the room and left the house. 

Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

You didn’t hear from Steve for the first few days after the party. 

Four days went by without seeing him and honestly, that was okay with you. He stayed away from the clubhouse, even when you saw Billy and Eddie in the lounge, Jonathan at poker nights, Steve wasn’t with them. You saw his car around town now and then, passing the maroon BMW as you drove home from work late at night, watching its tail lights speed away in your rear view mirror. You wondered if he had another girl in the front seat, someone else he called honey and fucked on the living room sofa. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You knew this would happen, you were just stupid enough to let it. You knew you’d get your heart broken, you knew you’d be the one left hurt. Because despite Steve’s proclivity for showering you in gifts and sex, you did have fun with him. He was sweet when he wanted to be, when he took off his suit and tie and shut off his pager. The business calls would stop and he’d forgo the expensive wine and designer shoes in favour of bringing a bag of your favourite chocolate, a dollar from the gas station and more appreciated than he realised. 

There had been a night he’d taken you his kitchen counter, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you with an intensity you’d never felt from him before, his forehead pressed to yours, his soft murmurs falling into your open mouth. 

“Eyes on me, honey, keep watchin.”

“You’re so pretty, y’know that? Could stay inside you all fuckin’ night, Jesus Christ.”

“There she is, there she is, look at you, huh? Fuckin’ perfect at takin’ me.”

It had made you feel giddy, fuzzy, coming on Steve’s cock harder than ever and after he slid out of you he ran you a bath instead of taking you home. He didn’t join you like you asked, scoffing at the idea of lavender bubbles and water hot enough to scald him but he did sit on the tiles, shirtless and with his hands in the tub, fingers trailing over your water slick legs. He told you about the places he’d been, beaches and cities, the towns he’d think you’d like. And in the candle light, at three in the morning, with no one else around, Steve told you that he’d have to take you one day. 

You’d hummed, pleased, heart racing at the idea of something coming from all of this. Not a free holiday, but someone to be with. A boyfriend, maybe, a partner. Someone who loved you as good as they fucked you. You weren’t deluded, you knew this wasn’t love. Not yet. But this handsome man came to the bar one day and decided that you were going to be his in some way or another. He wined you, dined you, spoiled you. Fucked you the way you asked and looked at you with stars in his eyes every time you got on your knees for him. He didn’t want you kissing anyone else, even when he couldn’t bring himself to kiss you. 

There were times you thought he would. Times he looked at you like he wanted to, needed to. Straying closer and closer to your lips every time he kissed you goodnight, a lingering thing on your cheek that you wished you could bottle up and keep. He’d let his lips graze over you when he fucked you, pressing you into the cushions of his couch because even taking you to his bed was too intimate, too much like a relationship. So he’d fuck you slow in his living room, in the glow of the fireplace with the red wine forgotten on the table as he lost himself in it all, mouth skimming over the planes of your cheeks, the slope of your jaw, the very fucking corner of your bottom lip, like that wasn’t as bad as letting him bend you over his mattress. 

Steve Harrington told you that he didn’t get attached, but you weren’t able to promise him the same.  

So your crush gave way to anger, a frustrated annoyance that made your blood simmer when you left work one Wednesday evening, autumn settling over the town as you wrapped your jacket around you a little tighter and headed to your car. Except Steve was leaning against the hood of it, a dozen red roses clutched in one hand. He didn’t look nearly as put together as he normally did, but you thought he was twice as pretty. Still tanned, forever sunkissed even as the leaves on the trees started to fall, dressed in a pair of jeans and an old Harvard sweater. He didn’t go to Harvard, didn’t need to, but he looked every part the preppy boy you would’ve fallen in love with if you’d made it to college. 

He looked softer but still as confident as ever as he stayed lounging against your car, like he was waiting for you to come to him. Instead you rolled your eyes and headed to the driver's side of your old Volkswagen, ignoring him as you passed. 

“Wow, you’re just going to pretend I’m not here?” 

Annoyance flared inside of you at the sound of his voice, unapologetic with a touch of entitlement. You scoffed, turning to the boy only to glare and you opened the drivers door so you could throw in your purse. “Most people would start with an apology, Steve.”

He pushed off the front of your hood and came to you, flowers held out as if to say ‘this is the apology.’ You could smell the flowers in the air, fresh and a vibrant red, overflowing from his hand and you could only imagine the price he paid for something that would wilt and die in a few days. 

“You actually have to say it, you know.” You challenged him, eyes meeting his, unblinking, unwavering. Time spent with the richest man in town had given you some confidence of your own, an unflinching boldness when faced with stares in restaurants, whispers in crowded bars. “I don’t want your gifts.”

“Honey,” Steve tried, reaching for your hand. You moved back, out of his reach. He tried another approach, softer, sweeter. “Baby, c’mon. I’m sorry, alright? I am. I shouldn’t have acted like that at the party.”

He was right, he shouldn’t have. So you nodded but kept away, standing stiff and tense as you decided whether you should ask what you wanted to. You crossed your arms, a protective stance, and tried to sound braver than you felt. “Why wasn’t Eddie allowed to kiss me?”

Steve stared at you before he scoffed, setting the roses on your car roof before he shoved his hands into his pockets. His face became passive, a mask, a shield, the one he used on business calls and during luncheons with shareholders in his fathers companies. “So that’s what we’re doing now, huh? Kissing other people in front of each other?”

You could feel your frustration rising to the surface, bubbling and simmering and ready to explode out of you. “Why shouldn’t we? You said it yourself, we’re not together. I’m not your girlfriend.”

Steve avoided the question, eyes flashing instead and he swiped a hand over his face, through his hair. “Honey, please, like you wouldn't throw a fit if I took someone out to dinner, hm? If you found out I’d been taking someone else to nice restaurants and—”

“How do I know that’s not happening already!” You shot back, almost too loud. Mr and Mrs Lewinsky were walking arm and arm to their Mercedes, glancing over to the corner you car was tucked into. Thank god it was dark. You turned back to Steve, face heated. “You leave, like all the time. You’re gone for days and weeks, all over the world with villas and hotel rooms and penthouse apartments. You expect me to believe you don’t have a girl in every city? There’s not another me waiting for you on your living room couch in New York? Monaco? Italy? France? Oh, I’m sorry, do you maybe let them into your bed?”

Steve swore, looking around the parking lot as more people started to flood out now that dinner was over. Valets were moving cars down to the door and you could hear the voice of Frederick bidding guests goodbye. He held his hand out, “give me your keys.”

You stared at him, face screwed up. “What?”

“I said,” Steve repeated calmly, “give me your keys and get in the car.”

You scoffed, “no, I’m not going anywhere with you. And you’re not driving my fucking car.”

“I’m not having this conversation here,” Steve muttered and his voice was annoyed. “Either get in and let me drive or I’m marching you across the lot to my own car and you can wave to your boss at the same time.”

Annoyance pricked at your skin, a thousand needles of anger that made your back stiffen and your eyes narrow. “You drive like a fucking formula one wannabe,” you hissed, but still you threw your keys at his chest and marched round to the passenger seat, not caring to see if he caught them or not. “You fuck up my wheels, you’re buying me new alloys, Steve.”

Steve threw himself into the driver's seat and laughed meanly, lifting the bouquet of roses and throwing them into the backseat. Petals scattered everywhere. He slammed the door with the same amount of aggression as you did and once you were seated, he turned to you and smiled too sweetly. “Honey, I’ll buy you a new goddamn car, okay? Put your seatbelt on.”

You sat, stubborn, arms crossed and staring out the window. Your seatbelt remained unfastened. Steve revved the engine and despite the headlights stopping them from seeing who was behind the wheel of the beat up old Volkswagen, they were still staring. 

“Stop it,” you hissed. “Just, get us out of here, god.”

“Seatbelt,” Steve repeated. You didn’t move and he tutted. “Where did my good girl go, huh?” He leaned over you and you remained passive, even when his breath was on your jaw and his hand slid around your hip as he did the belt for you. “You used to be so good at doing what you were told.”

“I’m not your girl,” you reminded him, smiling in a way that was anything but friendly. You felt dead behind the eyes, nothing but annoyance when you looked at Steve right then. “Remember?”

Steve grunted, swearing under his breath as he pulled away too fast and the wheels screeched as he sped out of the clubhouse parking lot. He hit sixty on the country roads at the back of Hawkins, screaming past the lake before he pulled off the road, just as you were ready to tell him off. He parked up in an empty lot, nothing but dirt and trees and a view of the water tower in the distance. 

“There’s no other girls,” he said, breaking the silence. It was easier not to yell in the dark, in the closeness of the front of the car, where everything felt intimately softer than before. 

“What?” You scrunched your face, mostly in disbelief as you tried to recall what you had yelled at him before he drove your car away from the scene. 

“There aren’t any girls in other cities. There’s no one fucking waiting for me in Monaco, or, or Cannes, or L.A, no one, okay?”

You scoffed, disbelieving and you unclipped your seatbelt so you could lean against the door, facing him. Steve was still gripping the wheel with one hand, another swiping tiredly over his face, but for what it was worth, he looked sincere. But still, annoyance and the lingering feeling of rejection clawed in your stomach, an awful, ugly thing that made you sneer. 

“Whatever, you really expect me to believe that? The front page of the Hawkins Post ran a damn article about how your new yacht had a mirrored ceiling in one of the bedrooms.” You laughed meanly, sadly, hoping your voice didn’t crack. “Okay, Hugh Hefner, excuse me if I don’t buy your bullshit.”

Steve groaned again, a long suffering thing and he pulled at his sweater sleeves, rolling them up his forearms until his watch face glinted in the light of the moon. “Fine, okay, yeah, I used to! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

No, it wasn’t. 

“Had a girl for each damn arm, alright? But I haven’t— I haven’t—” Steve swallowed and you watched the harsh way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the furrow in his brow deepen. He didn’t look at you when he said, “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

It was a surprise, that was for sure. And what was even more startling, was the fact that you believed him, you truly did. Gone was the businessman facade, the smooth tone of voice that made you call him Mr Harrington. Instead there was a young man in front of you who was doing his best to make you understand. 

“I don’t do relationships, honey, you knew that,” Steve said and he sounded almost sad. “I don’t kiss girls and hope they fall in love with me, I don’t bring them home and take to my bed and let them believe we’ll wake up together in the morning and fuckin’ cuddle.”

You blinked away tears, angry, upset, frustrated tears that burned the corners of your eyes. You sniffed, annoyed, venomous. “Fine. I’m far from declaring my undying adoration for you Steve, don’t worry. But you don’t then get to decide who I get to kiss if you don’t wanna do it yourself.”

Steve stiffened then, turning to you with an angry flash in his eyes and hard set to his jaw. He narrowed his gaze at you and shook his head. “Don’t test me, honey.”

You scoffed, defiant. “Whatever. Take me home, you can walk back to your car.”

“I’m not done talking,” Steve frowned and he couldn’t believe it when you simply laughed and got out of the car. He jumped out after you, bewildered at the sight of you walking through mud and the littering of fallen leaves in your clubhouse uniform, heels and all. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Walking,” you shot back, “what does it look like!” 

“Get in the damn car,” Steve said your name and it sounded like a warning, “it’s pitch fuckin’ black out here.”

You didn’t turn around though, arms crossed right across your chest because you’d left your coat in your locker like an idiot. “Then I’ll find a pay phone, call for a ride. Maybe Eddie will come get me.” It was a cheap blow, but it did exactly what it was supposed to. 

The sound of heavy feet marching up behind you, a hand on your arm to stop you from moving and then Steve was in front of you, face scrunched in anger, in frustration. He held your shoulders, slipped his wide hands down the length of your arms until he eased them from your chest and held your fingers between his. 

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Steve asked, his voice a little louder than it had been earlier. He seemed to unravel slightly, a panic in his tone that you’d never heard before. “I— I take you out, I treat you good, right? But you presents ‘n’ pretty things, fuckin’ flowers and shoes and dresses and take you to restaurant openings, parties and, and—”

“I don’t want any of that, Steve!” You yelled, eyes wide. You felt too hot despite the cold night. “I never wanted any of that! I didn’t ask for it.” You blew out a breath but you didn’t drop his hands. “I appreciated it, all of it, I did. I do. But I didn’t need any of that! I enjoyed being with you.”

Steve shook his head at you, lips parted and a look of confusion on his face. Like he’d never been told such a thing before. “So, so what? You want Eddie? None of that, but you want Eddie, is that it?”

You huffed, head thrown back in exasperation and you counted to three, staring at the stars blinking back at you in the night sky and you wondered what you were doing here, you wondered what cruel twist of fate led you to sit down with Steve Harrington that night in the lounge. 

“No,” you eventually said, calmer than you’d sounded before. “No, I don’t want Eddie. God, Steve, I wanted you, alright? This whole time, just you. Not your money, or your cars or your houses or anything else. Just you. I wanted to hold your hand and go on dates. Somewhere stupid and lame like the movies, or, or a drive through for a cheap burger and shake. I wanted you to kiss me goodnight and kiss me good morning and maybe, I don’t know,  have sex with me on a mattress like a normal couple.”

You sniffed, willing away the tears that came with your speech. You weren’t prepared to cry over a man who didn’t want you the way you wanted him. But you watched Steve’s expression fall, a crumpled thing that made him look young and boyish. He dropped your hands only to move closer and cup your face instead, his thumb soothing over your bottom lip like he could will your upset away. You watched his gaze fall to your mouth, following the movements his thumb made across the seam of your lips like he wanted to put his against yours. His lips parted and he looked pained. 

“I’m not asking you to fucking marry me, Steve, but god, why won’t you at least kiss me? Am I that much of a throw away toy for you that you won’t even—”

“Because if I kiss you, I’ll fucking fall in love with you, okay!” Steve barked out, sudden and rushed and panicked sounding. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath, letting his hands fall to your neck, his head falling forward. “God.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. 

“You don’t think I know I can get any girl I want?” Steve laughed and it sounded powerful, it sounded like money. “Honey, I walked into the club that day and saw your pretty face and knew I was fucked.” Steve lifted his head so you could see him again, lips parted in surprise at his admission but he just smiled. He brought a hand back to your cheek, smoothed a thumb over the apple of it, down the line of your jaw. “So I told myself I could just have some with you, see how good you looked without that uniform on, maybe spoil you a little and whatnot.”

“You’re a pig,” you told him but you didn’t move away. 

“I know,” Steve shrugged. “Wasn’t looking for a wife honey, I just loved the way you got all huffy with me, how sweet you’d get when I got my hands on you.” Steve dragged his thumb down your neck, pressed lightly and watched the way you tilted your chin up for him. “You’re just so fucking pretty.”

“But then you had to get under my skin didn’t you? Thought about you all the goddamn time and couldn’t look at any other girl without seeing your face instead.” Steve tsked, walked you backwards until you were against the side of your car and pressed against him. “Hated it at first, you know. Tried to stay away for longer than I needed to, but shit, got back into town and went straight to the club to see you. There you were, pretty as ever and chewing me out for being gone too long, callin’ me Mr Harrington like you knew it would get me so fuckin’ hot for you.”

Steve grinned when you whined, a knee jerk response to the way he was sliding a hand around your upper thigh, up under the hem of your dress and your head hit the door of your car with a dull thud. “Ate at Michelin star restaurants all ‘round the world, honey, but I’ve never tasted anything as good as you, you know that?” He was on your throat now, mouthing up it, licking a line along your neck until he could nip at your jaw. “Want you, all the time. Just you. It drives me fucking insane and I dunno what to do.”

You felt the fight leave you and you hated yourself for it, feeling weaker every time Steve put his mouth on your skin and his nose was pressed to your cheek now, one hand in your hair and the other squeezing at the dough do your ass under your dress, pulling up the hem of it to expose you to the cool air and it was all filthy. It was all exactly why you entered into this whole situation in the first place. Steve Harrington - money and family name or not - made you feel like you were on fucking fire. 

So you grabbed at him, tried to fight back in other ways, with fingers in his hair so you could tug him down and let him latch his mouth to your neck. He scraped his teeth along the column of it, groaning when you pulled meanly. Steve swore, licking over the bruise he’d marked you with, a pink-red bloom on your skin that would remind you of him even days later. His nose bumped yours as he leaned down to you, crowding you against the car and up against his chest and you were panting, waiting for it, feeling the way he let his nose graze yours, a teasing back and forth that left his mouth hovering over yours. 

“Get in the back,” Steve whispered and it was a quiet order, a soft demand, one that you knew you’d bend to because you were soaked, clit pulsing against the lace of your underwear, and shit, Steve knew that too. 

But it didn’t mean you weren’t going to make him work for it. 

“No,” you argued back. You didn’t mean it, this was foreplay. This was everything that got Steve a little hot under the collar, the way you played pretend and tried to get your own way. “You can fuck me here, ‘gainst the door.”

Steve laughed and he pressed the sound into your cheek, teeth against your skin and he pushed a kiss there, a smattering of them as his hands went back under your dress and he pulled down your underwear with the tips of his fingers. He let them fall to the ground, not bothering to pick them up. 

“Get in the car, honey. Front or back, you decide, but either way you’re gonna ride me, okay?” Steve told you and that big, bad businessman voice was back, the one that made your toes curl and your cunt ache. Sweet, syrupy, demanding. He brought a hand between your thighs and cupped you, groaning at the heat and the slick that coated his fingers as he swept them through your folds. “She’s missed me,” he cooed, not asking but telling. Like it was a fact. 

“This is the last time,” you told him and it felt like you were trying to tell yourself that too. “We don’t want the same things, fuck—” you were cut off on a gasp when Steve circled your clit, his gaze heavy and dark as he leaned in and let his forehead touch yours. “S’all gonna end in a mess.”

“In the car, honey,” Steve reminded you, neither agreeing or arguing with your words. There wasn’t any point. You both knew this wasn’t the end. “C’mon, be a good girl for me.”

So you stepped out of your underwear and left them lying, like some sick white flag, a symbol of surrender as you pushed Steve away and opened the back door, sliding over the seats as Steve joined you. The door clicked shut and silence took over, the dark and heavy kind that came with the late night, the one that carried a special type of tension and it filled the whole space, it fizzed and crackled in the air between you and it made you fucking breathless. 

You watched with a tight chest as Steve sat back in the middle  seat, already looking wrecked, his hair a mess from your greedy fingers. He spread his legs as much as he could in the tight space and he nodded to his lap, where you could already see the outline of his dick pressed under the denim. “Sit,” he said. 

Not feeling as ready to argue anymore, you listened to the throbbing between your legs and obeyed, the top of your head grazing the car roof as you slid onto Steve’s lap, thighs spread over his in a way that made you burn that white-blue type of hot, because your dress was too short and your underwear was still outside. He could see everything when you looked down, hem of your uniform flirting too high, the dirty spread of you on display. Even in the low light he could see you shine, wet and ready, all for him. 

But Steve kept his hands on the seats, practically lounging as he tilted his head back to look at you from where you were perched on top of him. He studied you, like a piece of art he was ready to buy. His eyes found yours before his gaze dropped to your nose, your cheeks, the line of your jaw, the slope of your neck. Then he found your lips, parted and wanting, the tip of your tongue peeking from between as if you were just dying for something to taste. 

Maybe his fingers, you liked that. The heavy feel of them on your tongue so you could suck on them while he fucked you slow. Maybe his neck, right where it met his shoulder, that almost always bruised piece of skin that you bit down on when you came, riding Steve’s cock somewhere you shouldn’t and you had to keep quiet. Maybe you wanted his dick, too big to take all of it, but the stretch of your jaw and the hot slide of it over your tongue made you rock your hips against nothing, especially when Steve was feeling extra sweet and swept his hands over your face when you sucked him off, thumbing at the corners of your full mouth as he told you how pretty you looked. 

But he offered none of those. No. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “what do you want?”

You looked at him, a question mark on your face, just able to see the shine of his eyes and the strong lines of his nose and jaw in the dark. His hands remained by his sides. “What?”

Steve smiled, just a small thing. “I said, what do you want?”

“You,” you answered shyly, only after a beat or two of quiet. You kept it deliberately vague, leaving it to the boy to decipher if that meant sex or more. Or both. “I want you, Steve.”

“You don’t want my money,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. He knew that already. “Not interested in where I could take you, what I could buy you. No,” Steve's voice grew warmer, softer, fond. “Told you before, didn’t I? I know my girl just wants fucked.”

You squirmed, nodding. Because if this was the last time, you’d make sure you enjoyed it. But then Steve did something even more unexpected. He let his hands settle on your thighs, still a little cold from being outside and you hissed at the slide of them going upupup. He didn’t touch your cunt though, didn’t let his fingers play with you like he usually did. 

“C’mere,” he asked instead. “Close your eyes, yeah?”

Your brows stitched together at his request. You were hardly a stranger to blindfolds and surprises, but this didn’t seem like the time or place. 

“You trust me?” Steve whispered and his gaze was on your lips, waiting. 

It didn’t take you long to nod, because yes, despite it all, despite Steve’s issues with… commitment, you did trust him. You believed him about the other girls, about everything. 

“Good girl. Close your eyes,” Steve asked again and you did. 

The car seemed smaller with one sense gone. Eyes shut and Steve so near. You could feel his warmth, the way he moved into you a little more, closer than before until his breath was fanning over your mouth and chin and his nose was bumping yours. Your stomach tumbled. 

“I can’t promise you anything,” he whispered into you. You could feel his lips moving, a barely there ghost against your own. His touch felt like a secret. “I don’t know how— how to be someone’s boyfriend. I’ve never done that. But I can try, if you’ll let me.”

You weren’t sure when your own hands had moved but they were fisting the front of Steve’s sweater. The letters for Harvard crushed in your palms and you were holding on for dear life. 

“You said this was the last time,” Steve murmured and you wanted to open your eyes, you wanted to stare him down and challenge him but you did as he asked. You kept your eyes closed. “Is this the last time, baby?”

Baby. 

“Or are you gonna give me a chance? I’ll do my best for you, I swear, I’ll try,” Steve’s mouth was moving over your cheek, kisses pressed there between each word until he was mouthing along your jaw and chin and you were weak, sitting on top of him and feeling like you could melt. “I’ll try for you, honey, don’t wanna lose you. Don’t want you with someone else.”

He was talking faster now, like there was an urgency there that wasn’t before and his hands were skimming up from your thighs to squeeze at your waist before his palms were cupping your jaw and pulling you to him. His lips touched yours, only just and you gasped like you’d been burned. Steve kept you there, panting hard, his own eyes closed now and his brow furrowed. 

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered and his voice cracked. Gone was the businessman. He smelled like mint toothpaste and cologne, like sunscreen. “We can stop this here and I’ll let you go and we can pretend we never met, if that’s what you want.”

You only clung to him tighter, one hand trailing blindly up his neck until you could pull at the longer hairs there and hold him. You made a noise of protest, tears lining your lashes as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut tighter so they’d stay in. You shook your head, nose brushing Steve’s, lips moving over his so, so briefly. 

“I don’t want to stop.”

You weren’t sure what you thought your first kiss with Steve Harrington would be like. You’d thought about it a lot, sure. But it was usually in the heat of the moment, when he was inching inside of you, hips slapping against your own, your fingers tight in his hair and whispering filthy things to each other. You thought he’d kiss you like that, hard and fast and messy, with a dirty lick of his tongue. But Steve moved slowly, almost shy. He hesitated as he brought his thumb over your cheek, a brief touch before he was closing the gap and meeting your lips with his. 

It was slow, careful. Soft. A gentle thing and Steve exhaled shakily, his breath fanning over your cheek as he tilted his head and let you press closer. His lips parted, tongue swiping over yours as the kiss deepened and when you let out a soft noise of appreciation, the boy groaned and his hands fell to your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer still. 

Once he started, it was like he couldn’t stop. 

Steve pulled away only briefly for you both to suck in a breath, his lips finding yours again until the kiss turned into the kind you’d thought about, a messy, dirty thing that had you whining into his open mouth, tugging at his hair until he let you swallow each groan. Steve’s eyes were closed when he spoke, chest heaving, words a low, rough rasp and his hands were under your dress now, fingertips skimming up the inside of your thighs until you were squirming. 

“Want it, honey? Yeah?” Steve was mouthing over your jaw, kissing at your cheek as you panted, pulling at his belt buckle until you could free his cock from his boxers. He sounded drunk, wrecked. “That’s it, good girl, c’mon, take it. S’all yours.”

Steve let his head fall back, resting on the back seat of the car, eyes hooded as he watched you. You didn’t waste any time, pulling at the button of his jeans until you had enough room to free his cock. He was already hard, leaking for you, his breath hitching when you wrapped a small hand around him and pumped once, twice. You swiped a thumb over the tip, dragged the slick back down the length of him and leaned in, intent on making Mr. Steve fucking Harrington, business man, millionare, poker winner, car collector, fall apart for you.

Your nose slid against and your bottom lip brushed his, a teasing thing that you managed to not give into, even when Steve's lips chased yours. He’d made you wait months for a kiss, he could wait another minute or two. You pumped his cock again, fisting it a little tighter, the way you’d learned that he’d liked. He was quick to pant into your mouth, lips catching yours when he titled his chin up for you.

“Tell me it’s mine,” you coaxed, voice low and sweet, just the way Steve loved to speak to you. You palmed his cock, voice sugar. “Tell me this is mine.”

Steve’s hands swept up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin, grip bordering on too tight, a possessive touch. He was breathing heavily, the windows in the car starting to steam up, condensation running tracks down the glass. “S’yours,” he slurred, drunk sounding, softer than ever. “S’your cock, honey, promise.”

You couldn’t wait any longer, rutting yourself against Steve’s thigh as you touched him, foreheads pressed together, lips catching against each other and it pulled a moan from both of you when you raised up on your knees. Dirty, wet noises filled the car as you ran the head of his cock through your folds and Steve dragged your dress up, pushing the material over your hip so he could watch you sink down onto him, taking every inch.

He helped you bounce, up and down, up and down before you started a lazy roll of your hips, grinding down against the boy until you were pulling on his hair and whining into the crook of his neck. It was all too much and Steve’s hand grabbed at the nape of your neck, hand fisting in your own hair, bordering on too tight but he brought your face back to his, eyes half lidded as he gazed at you and pleaded: “shit, honey, kiss me? Kiss me, please, fuck-- m’gonna come.”

His neediness made you groan, a pitchy, breathy noise that Steve soon swallowed, your lips melting between his as he caught you in a kiss, open mouthed and possessive, teeth and tongues as he came. His hips bucked up as you rode him harder and the boy let go of your hair to cup your jaw, his free hand falling to rub at your clit with two fingers, white hot pleasure shooting up your spine. You fell into him, letting Steve catch you and you kissed him, eyes glassy, squeezed shut, your mouth on his as you both came hard. You felt Steve’s cock twitch, spilling into you as he kissed you, chest heaving against yours and as your hips slowed, so did his kisses, softer, kinder.

“You okay?” he breathed, breath fanning over your lips, your cheeks, your gaze blurry and unfocused. “Baby, you with me?”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

You nodded, nose knocking against his but you didn’t dare pull away. You didn’t want to. And by the looks of things, Steve wasn’t ready to let you go either. His hands soothed over your hair, pushing back the stray strands that clung to your damp forehead, your warm cheeks. He was still inside of you, softening only slightly, a mix of you both spilling over your thighs. It was dirty, filthy, it was the most tender thing you’d experienced with him.

“So good,” Steve breathed, cheeks flushed, his eyes shining. He looked drunk, he looked as gone as you felt, his hands roaming over you, touching every piece of bare skin he came across, palming greedily at your hips, your thighs, your ass. He dotted a line of kisses from your neck to your cheek, nosing there until you lifted your chin for him and kissed his lips, sighing as you did. “So fuckin’ good for me, all the time, huh? My girl, fuck, you’re so pretty, so, so pretty.”

You lazed against him, soaking up his touch, his words, the insane feel of his lips over your skin, your throat, chasing your lips until you pressed into him, opening your mouth when he did, tongues brushing over each other in languid strokes. Steve kissed like he fucked, like he wanted you to feel every part, like he wanted you to remember it for days.

“Come home w’me,” he murmured into your lips, never leaving them, never stopping his kisses. Steve whispered between words, hummed happily when your hands clasped his cheeks, when your fingers trailed over the stubble on his jaw. “Come back to mine, please. We can talk ‘bout everything. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning, I’ll wake up beside you. Please.”

Your heart stopped at the idea of it all. The intimacy you hadn’t been given yet. The thought of Steve talking to you about something as serious and long term as a relationship. No dropping you home after five orgasms, kissing the back of your hand as he dropped you at your apartment at three am. No running off to an airport, no flights, no meetings, no business calls to interrupt. 

“You can’t cook,” is what you said, voice muffled by his shoulder, the way your face was buried in the crook of his neck. 

Steve scoffed, laughing even though you could hear the nerves there. He nosed at your cheek until you emerged, a hand wrapping gently around your neck, thumb pushed to the underside of your chin so you’d meet his gaze and the sincerity there took your breath away. You were still on his lap, his softening cock still inside of you but neither of you made the move to unravel from the other.

“I mean it,” he whispered and in the quiet of the night it was like you could hear his heartbeat. A thumpthumpthump that rattled the air between you, but fuck, maybe that was your own. “Come home with me, honey. I wanna-- I wanna make this right.”

-------

The next morning, Steve woke you up with his lips on your cheek, a soft, cautious thing that you leaned into even half asleep. Your bare chest pressed to his, your legs stretching out alongside the boy’s. You turned, arms needling around Steve’s neck so you could find his lips with yours, mouths searching, needy, suddenly desperate even with half closed eyes. 

“Morning,” you murmured.

“Mornin’, honey,” Steve whispered back and you couldn’t see with your closed eyes but the boy was smiling, soft and proud and fond. 

You were right, the night before, in the car. Steve didn’t cook. So after a shared shower where you let Steve hook your leg over his shoulder and kiss at your cunt until you came on his tongue - his eyes on your the entire time, his nose squished all pretty against your pussy as he came in his own fist, the waterfall shower raining down on you both - Steve took you out for breakfast.

Dressed in a pair of his running shorts that you had to roll up and one of his hoodies that had a tiny Yves Saint Laurent logo on the chest, you were relieved to find a pair of sneakers in your trunk. You’d mumbled that you’d looked ridiculous, but Steve had just used your embarrassment to kiss you again, hands on your cheeks and pulling you to him in the driveway. 

He got to take his car instead of yours, only because you got to choose where to eat. 

So Steve Harrington drove you both from his three story townhouse in his shiny BMW to a Mom and Pop’s just out of town. He held your hand across the parking lot, held the door open for you and plucked at his sweater collar to pull you in for a kiss over the table, red leather seats sticking to his expensive jeans. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t complain, didn’t mutter about missing out on eggs benedict and caviar at the clubhouse because here, he got to kiss you all he wanted.

And it was worth it, to watch the way you softened for him, feet against his under the table, sharing a strawberry milkshake that didn’t really go with the hashbrowns and bacon you’d ordered. It was worth it, to leave his pager at home, to ignore the incessant beeping, emails pinging in his office about flights, meetings, business deals, money, shares, stocks. 

Steve was realising it was all worth it, to have you. 

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life 

Three Years Later.

The sway of the boat made you feel weightless. A miracle really, considering how heavy you actually felt. The italian sun warmed your skin, mostly bare from your bikini, straps slipping down your shoulders as you lay flat on a lounger, sunglasses covering your eyes from the harsh blue skies above.

The water was the same colour, the gentle lap of the ocean on the sides making you sleepy. The bustle of the city was barely heard, Monaco in the distance as the yacht bobbed just outside of the harbour. Despite its size, The Smart Girl hardly had anyone on board. You were on the deck, catching the last of the day’s sun, with a few staff members milling around. And Steve? Steve was in one of the rooms he’d made into his office from home, a big oak desk taking up most of the space and he’d sit for hours taking calls, pouting at you from the open door as he tried to coax you in to sit on his lap. You’d always refuse, stretching out on your lounger, bikini top riding up, giving him a show until he could string enough words together to make an excuse to whatever big shot millionaire was on the other end of the line.

“There’s my baby.”

The lounger dipped as Steve pushed a knee to the cushion, crowding over you, leaning in to greet you with a kiss, tasting like aperol and oranges. You hummed into him, salt on both of your lips from the sun, the sea. Steve kissed your cheek too, moving down to nuzzle at your neck as his hand skimmed over your belly, the slight swell of it making your red bikini bottoms stretch out.

“And my other baby,” Steve cooed cupping your growing tummy. 

“You said an hour, tops,” you complained but there wasn’t any heat behind it. It was hard to be annoyed about Steve leaving you to your own devices when the Mediterranean sea was rocking you to sleep. “No more business, right?”

Steve smirked at your bossiness, nodding as he leaned back down to ghost some kisses along your shoulder, he nipped at your jaw and hummed. “No more business, honey. M’all yours.”

The trip was supposed to be a babymoon of sorts, even though you were only a few months into your pregnancy and you were sure Steve would whisk you off somewhere else warm and sunny as the months passed. But he’d promised no business, no meetings and when the chance to join a conference call with the owner of the city's most prestigious club arose, Steve caved. 

“I’ll buy you somethin’ pretty to make up for it,” he’d told you and you’d tried to act huffy but after three years together, the man saw right through you. 

“How’d the call go?” You asked him, eyeing him greedily as he popped some buttons on his shirt, the white linen falling open to show off sunkissed skin, the gold chain around his neck. 

Steve slipped his sunglasses from his pocket onto his nose, made sure to wink at you over the frame of them so you knew he saw your appreciative gaze. He stretched out next to you, one of the staff members appearing - Paul - with a tray of lemon water and glasses as he got comfy. “It went well,” he smiled his thanks to Paul and gave you a class, coaxing you to drink up. “We scheduled another call for when we’re back home to iron out some details. I told him my pretty wife would have me thrown overboard if I took any longer.”

Steve grinned when you frowned. “I wouldn’t do that,” you mumbled. “I’d just yell at you for a bit.”

Steve leaned in, still smiling, nosing along your jawline as his hand plucked at the flimsy strap of your bikini. “You know that would just get me all hot, right?”

You rolled your eyes and tried to hide your smile in his neck, tipping it back to let Steve kiss the skin there. He still smelled like he did when you first met him, the same expensive cologne, sunscreen and the Italian countryside. “You make me sound so bossy,” you murmured, meeting him for a kiss. 

“You are,” Steve whispered, his hand back on your tummy, his thumb running over the bump in soft circles. “M’whipped, remember?” He held up his other hand, the band on his ring finger glinting in the sun. 

“You complained when Eddie said it,” you teased. 

“That’s ‘cause Eddie’s a dick,” Steve shot back but it was light hearted. “Speaking of, I promised him we’d meet him for dinner when we got back. I know it’s not your favourite but—”

“The clubhouse?” You groaned, pouting. “Really?”

“He loves the steak tartare there, honey, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I was fired from there—” you reminded him, voice surly. 

“You’re a member there,” Steve quipped back. He kissed your palm, over your knuckles, lips grazing the diamond on your finger. 

“—after my boss caught you going down on me in the ladies changing rooms,” you continued, cheeks still hot at the memory even if it was years ago. You’d never forget the expression on Frederick’s face. “I can’t look that man in the eye, never mind order dinner from him.”

“Fun times,” Steve smirked. “Don’t you love being able to click your fingers at the man who made your life hell? Order the most expensive champagne with all your money?”

You whined, a fake complaint as Steve manhandled you into his lap, letting you lie between his legs, your back resting his chest. He was warm from the sun, strong, solid. “I don’t click my fingers at anyone, Harrington. It’s rude. And it’s not my money, I’m unemployed. I’m basically a leech,” you pouted up at him, all faux dramatics. 

Steve snorted at your words before leaning down, skimming his lips over your hairline, his hands, wide and warm, cupping the swell of your tummy. “You’re not unemployed, you’re on maternity leave. And studying. No woman of mine is working while she’s growing our baby,” he kissed your nose when you tilted your chin up to him, smiling. “And what’s mine is yours, Harrington,” he shot back. 

“Your woman?” You raised your brows at his words. 

“My favourite one,” Steve whispered. He was still all charm, even after the years had passed. His voice grew softer then, fingers trailing up your ribs. “Can’t wait to take you home - both of you - get settled, build a crib, paint a nursery.”

“You’re not building a crib,” you laughed, eyes shining. It was easy, it was wonderful, being this is love. This happy. “Have you even held a hammer before, Steve?”

He responded by nipping at your neck, enticing a squeal from you, a choked laugh. “You’re incredibly rude, Mrs Harrington, I’ll let you know I have, actually.”

You turned in his arms, kneeling between his thighs and you watched as his eyes darkened, gaze trailing over the way your breasts pushed out, the way your thighs pressed themselves together. “That’s not important,” he answered tartly and he grinned when you snorted. 

The new house back in Indiana was modest, by Steve’s standards. But he’d let you choose, a family home that was built in the 1800’s with big, bay windows, original cornicing and a fireplace in each bedroom. A perfect family home, with more rooms in it than you could’ve ever imagined having.

It had been easier than you’d thought, to get here. With Steve Harrington, married and with a baby on the way. Not that you’d expected it, not back then. But weeks turned into months and months turned into years, your first anniversary sailing by without much issue. There were arguments, forlorn phone calls when Steve left for business and you had to work, shouting matches when the boy came home and tried to get you to quit work altogether, ‘cause you didn’t need a wage when you had him, right?

But he was quick to compromise, when it came to you. Kissing away your upset, swapping expensive gifts for genuine apologies, your favourite flowers that came by the handful instead of the boxes of hundred dollar bouquets made by someone else. Was he smug about it when the job at The Lake House came to an end? Sure. Too smug, maybe, considering he gave a half assed apology to Frederick with your lipstick trailed across his cheek and jaw. But he supported you - celebrated you - when you got a new position in a paralegal’s office, picking back up your textbooks that you once had to abandon. 

There was a big bed to share now, a wardrobe that held both your clothes, suits and silk dresses, your old sweaters, Steve’s knitwear that was practically all yours. Your toothbrush next to his, your vinyls next to his record player, a stocked fridge with all the ingredients for his favourite meals, ready for you to reach him how to cook. There was sex, holidays, hotels, more sex, nights on the sofa with blankets and movies, a diamond, Steve in the driver's seat in the parking lot of that Mom ‘n’ Pops diner, the ring clutched between his shaky fingers as he told you how much he loved you. A pregnancy test, staring back at you both from the bathroom vanity, a year after the wedding in Cannes, the honeymoon in the Maldives. 

Unplanned, yes? Unexpected, definitely. Did it make you both overwhelmingly excited? More than you could express. 

Steve took your chin in his hand, pulling you in, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip, his eyes growing softer when you kissed at it. “Are you happy?” he whispered.

“With you?” you answered, smiling. “Always.

[angellayercake]

Save a cowboy, ride a cardinal

Cardinal Copia x @ramblingoak happy birthday to yooooou 🎂🎂🎂

Copia attempts some roleplay fun for his favourite lady's birthday

‘Can I have this blind fold off yet?’ The ghoul didn’t answer, leading you down the gravel path only telling you just in time about the steps in your way so they have to catch you when you stumble. When Copia had mentioned blindfolds, surprises and your birthday this was not what you had imagined. You can hear buzzing voices ahead of you and the distinct sound of ragtime piano. ‘Where the hell are we?’ The ghoul ignored you again, continuing to lead you forward, the distinctive sound of doors being opened and then swinging shut behind you. There was only one place where all those things would be all together that's the new western themed bar that had opened in town. You loved westerns, LOVED them and had even been considering coming already. Unfortunately your friends at the Abbey had turned up their noses at a themed bar so you had given up any hopes of going, but it seemed Copia had been doing some snooping. 

You reached what you assumed was the bar, the ghoul helping you get sat on a high stool and then finally they removed your blindfold. There was almost too much to take in at first. Every table was full, being served by wait staff all dressed up in old west themed costumes. The walls were covered with vintage photographs, American flags, taxidermied cows and a hundred other themed trinkets, not quite authentic but the amount of history crammed into this place made you feel a bit giddy. In one corner a piano sat on a small stage, the source of the chipper ragtime you had heard on your way in. But dominating the middle of the room was a large empty space surrounded by a barrier, lined with padding and in the centre the unmistakable shape of a mechanical bull. It was still at the moment but you imagined things got a lot more rowdy when it was up and running. 

‘Well howdy there little lady,’ you hear behind you and a smile is spreading across your face before you even turn on your stool. You are about to reply when you register what he is wearing. Gone are his cassock and his perfectly tailored suit and in its place he is wearing jeans, you didn’t even know he owned a pair of jeans, but the dark blue denim clings to his thighs. Or at least what you can see underneath the black suede tassled chaps. You manage to tear your eyes away from his thighs, to his black shirt, the sharp piping his signature shade of red and then there was the hat. He had gone all out with what looked like a custom stetson. His put on smirk falters when all you can do is stare at him and he starts to fidget with his outfit nervously.

‘Did I not do it right? Aw shit,’ but before you can reassure him the barmaid interrupts. 

‘And what can I be getting you tonight?’ You switch your attention to the bar taking in the rows of bottles. Glancing at Copia you see him still fussing over his clothes so it looks like it's up to you to make a decision. 

‘Two beers please.’ She nods, quickly setting out two tankards and filling them at the vintage looking beer pump. This place was everything you had hoped, you only wished you were dressed for the occasion. If only he had given you some notice you could have pulled together a great bar wench outfit. When the full tankards were slid on the bar in front of you he snapped from his anxious haze and began fumbling for his wallet, struggling to get to it under the chaps. Just before you took pity on him he squeezed it from under the waistband with an adorable ‘ah ha’.  He hands over some notes, refusing the change with an awkward wave of his hand, as she turns away happy. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says with a sigh slouching down against the bar. ‘I tried to find the outfit like ‘The Cardinal’ but I couldn't find the jacket and then I wasn’t sure what the hat looked like and.’ You rub his shoulders where he is slumped over on the bar.

‘Copia,’ he raises his head from the bar, his hat knocked askew so you straighten it as you look into his disappointed eyes. ‘Your outfit is great! The best dressed cowboy in the joint.’ He perks up after that explaining to you how he had noticed you reading your cowboy romances, how he had heard your friends talking about the new place opening in town and how he knew this would be the perfect place to celebrate your special day. 

‘Calling all cowboys and girls,’ The loud speaker crackles interrupting your conversation. ‘In just a while we will be unleashing the bull into this here restaurant. So we are calling on some brave folks to try and tame this beast! Come on down to the ring to volunteer andsignawaiver.’ You see the idea form in his mind and before you can vocalise all the reasons this is a terrible idea he is up. 

‘You will see now amore, I will be the best cowboy si?’ He practically jumps off his stool, his eyes shining.

‘Wait, Copia, you already are the best cowboy.’ But he is already halfway across the bar. You watch him waiting bouncing on his heels at the front of the queue. You soak up the atmosphere while you wait for him to read through the probably substantial terms and conditions and when he hands over the clipboard and enters the ring you wander over with your beer. You edge your way to the front of the small crowd just as he is getting seated on the bull. He spots you giving you a nervous grin, the expression on his face screaming what have I got myself into.

‘All set?’ The assistant checks in with him and he gives them a slightly frantic nod and then he is alone in the padded ring. ‘Our next challenger is Copia, a first timer, so let's see what he can do in three, tw, one,’ he calls over the loudspeaker and then it is set in motion. It starts slowly rocking forwards, then backwards, side to side. You admire his strong thighs tense as they grip to keep him seated. When it spins him back to face you, you can see his grin has lightened up and he mouths, ‘this isn’t so bad’ at you before he is whipped around. The bull picks up pace jolting back and forth and this time when he is brought back around all you can see is his wide round panicked eyes. You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your laugh but it quickly becomes a gasp when with a sudden jolt forward and to the left he goes flying face first onto the mat.  

You shove your beer into the hand of the person standing next to you and rush around the barrier as he is sitting himself up. He groans as you help him to his feet, red faced and rubbing at his back. You pick up his hat where it had fallen next to him and dust it off before placing it back on his head. 

‘Amore, why didn’t you stop me?’ He moans as you support him across the bar back to your seats. ‘I am too old for this nonsense.’ Between you you hobble back over to the bar only to find your stools had been taken. He sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders more firmly. ‘I’m sorry, I had a whole plan and now it's ruined and.’ You squeeze his waist and turn him towards the exit.   

‘Nothing has been ruined silly.’ You push open the swinging doors and help him out into the cool evening air. Stretching his arms over his head he groans again and even though he is aching and slightly covered in dust you can’t help admiring the view. ‘And anyway you looked damn good up there on the bull, very powerful.’ He looks at you in disbelief but let’s you wipe some of the dust from his shoulders. ‘You even looked good all laid out on the floor.’ 

‘Oh you think you could have done better?’ He tickles at your side until you fall against his chest. ‘Shall we go back in? Do you want to have a ride?’

‘I have been thinking about riding tonight. Not the bull though’ You toy with the collar of his shirt, sliding open the top few buttons, if he was wearing jeans he may as well be even more casually dressed. 

‘Is that so amore?’ He backs you up against the wall, leaning on his forearm and boxing you in. ‘Perhaps we should start this evening again?’

‘Ok,’ You take a second to neutralise his expression so you can play along. ‘Hi.’

‘Howdy,’ He pulls his cowboy smirk off perfectly this time and it makes your knees weak. ‘What’s a pretty lady like you doing in a dive like this?’

‘I was looking for a handsome cowboy but I think I might have just found one.’ He closes the distance between you but doesn’t go straight for your lips. He kisses your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Slow soft presses of his lips that have your breath catching in your throat in anticipation. Finally he kisses you, and all his reservation dissolves as your lips finally touch, his full body pressing against you as his tongue slips past your lips to tangle with yours. The sudden swinging of the saloon doors snaps you both back to reality. You break apart but only just, partially hidden in the shadows of the porch.

‘Take me home Cardinal,’ you whispered against his swollen lips. He growls diving back in for one last aggressive kiss that had your stomach flipping and almost made you reconsider letting him have you there and then. But you manage to pry yourselves apart for long enough to get back to the car, where the ghoul was waiting to drive you both back to the Abbey. You can’t keep apart for long however and you end up wrapped up in his arms. 

‘I think this has been one of my best birthdays ever,’ you sigh contentedly. You run your fingers over his chest, following the lines of red piping until you can reach into the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt.

‘Only one of the best?’ He glares down at you,some of the strict Cardinal you had first met coming out. In the past that look would have cowed you but now you just smile up at him fluttering your lashes.

‘Well if it’s the top spot you are after, I have some ideas.’ He raises his eyebrows at you but starts running his fingers from the small of your back up to the nape of your neck. 

‘Ok let's hear it then,’ He tips your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours. You try to resist, well aware of the game he is playing. You close the distance this time, it’s your birthday you can take all the kisses that you want. Only when you are both breathless do you pull back. 

‘Tonight the chaps stay on,’ and after a moment's thought. ‘And the hat.’ 

‘That I can do. Anything for my Principessa.’ And he pulls you into another searing kiss.

[yopossum]

Kindred Spirits - 3

Main Masterlist - Part 2

Part 3 of the Professor Jack Daniels x Reader miniseries for @secretelephanttattoo’s Secret Springs Creative Challenge 🥃🤠

Rating: M

Warnings: Alcohol, drinking, brief discussion of loss of spouse and unborn child, grief, flirting, innuendo

—————————

The night was warm and lovely, and twinkling string lights criss crossed over the cobbled road, casting everything in a soft glow. You wandered aimlessly, enjoying the quaint surroundings, until you came to a small, cozy-looking bar that opened to the street, several stools slid up underneath and a few tables and chairs scattered about. Soft bluesy music played from a speaker inside, and the people drinking at the tables wore easy smiles and laughed heartily. You slid up to the counter and ordered an old fashioned (with Jack Daniels, please, you’d requested), tipped the bartender generously, then found an empty table. You sipped at your drink, savoring the sweet burn on your tongue, and closed your eyes and let your head fall back, content.

“Well, if it isn’t my star student,” lilted a rich, familiar voice.

You sat up to find Jack Daniels himself looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, pink lips drawn into a crooked smirk. Had they been that plump this afternoon? He still wore his Stetson, but had traded the suit for a white tee shirt, a black leather jacket with an upturned tan suede collar, and criminally snug dark jeans. You blinked back your initial surprise, settled into an expression you hoped looked a little more relaxed despite the pang of want that poked at your insides.

“If it isn’t Dr. Daniels,” you replied, running a finger around the rim of your glass.

He clucked his tongue. “Now, I believe I told you to call me Jack, did I not?” He went to pull out the other chair at the table, but paused, looking at you with question.

You nodded, and he sat down, stretching his legs out under the table and slouching back comfortably. “You did. Having a nice night, Jack?” you snickered.

He raised his own glass to you, whiskey neat. “Am now, darlin’, thanks to present company.” You hoped the flush of your face wasn’t too obvious in the dim light, just hummed in return.

“So, I take it this whole… energy… isn't a gimmick for the storytelling gig, then?” you asked, gesturing generally at Jack. You were curious, a little loosened by the drink, and hoped you didn’t sound rude.

He snorted, amused. “‘Fraid not, honey. Just Jack.” He took a long drink of his whiskey.

You toyed with the straw in your glass. “So you’re a real life cowboy, then?”

“I am, believe it or not. Have a couple dozen acres of woods and pasture in Louisville, some horses, small farm. Spent a lot of time ropin’ and racin’ in my younger days. Livin’ a bit more slowly now, though.”

You nodded. “Same. Well, not same. I’m not a cowboy, obviously.”

“Coulda fooled me with that Loretta Lynn shirt and whiskey habits,” whistled Jack. “Y’ got good taste.”

“Cheers to that,” you snorted, reaching across the table to clink his glass. “I meant the living slow part. That’s why I was at your lecture earlier, why I’m out alone now. Girls I’m with are a rowdy bunch. I raised some hell in my youth, but my time is a lot more limited and precious now, you know? I want to spend it doing shit that fills me up.” You cackled, then, shaking your head. “And, ideally, I’d like to remember it and not wake up sick or injured or in jail.”

“Amen.” Jack emptied his glass and sat it on the table, thick fingers tapping the sides absently. “I think I’ll have another. D’ya mind the company? If you’re keen, it’d be a great privilege to buy your next drink.” He seemed almost bashful, braggadocio thinned in the moment. “‘Course, you can always tell this old cowboy to fuck off,” he added.

Oh, Lord, I’m keen. I’m keen as hell. I’m the keenest anybody has ever been. I’m the fucking queen of keen.

“I guess I could do another, sure. I’ll have what you’re having.”

He beamed and excused himself from the table to order another round, and you resisted your body’s urge to scream and fling your arms around in excitement like Kermit the Frog. By the time Jack returned to the table, you’d collected yourself (slightly).

“Kingsman whiskey. Local distillery, makes me feel close to home.” He sat the glasses down in front of you and gestured for you to pick yours up. You complied, raising your glass and giving him a soft smile, which he mirrored. It was delicious, and with each sip, smile, and chuckle, you found yourself falling into deep, rapt conversation with your twangy table mate.

“May I be frank with you, sugar?” God knows how much time had passed when Jack leaned forward on his forearms, tilting his head and furrowing his brow in a way that reminded you of a puppy.

“You may.”

“I was dreadin’ this whole damn thing. Secret Springs, the travel, the talk, all of it. Almost pulled out last minute.” He sighed, lifting his chin skyward and looking up into the night. “Booked it thinkin’ I needed to just push through some shit and get on with it; pretty much immediately regretted that.”

Your eyebrows wrinkled with concern at the previously cocky Jack Daniels, looking suddenly forlorn and vulnerable. You weren’t sure how to respond, but your hand moved of its own volition, reaching across the table again and coming to rest on his wrist. He glanced down at where you made contact, then back up to your face. You blanched, thinking you overstepped, and let go, but he swiftly stopped you from pulling away with his free hand. “No, no. It’s… I’d like it if y’ kept it there. It’s a comfort.” So, you left it.

“My wife wanted to come to a place like this for our honeymoon.”

You tried to hide the shock on your face, loosing your hand from his wrist again. A fucking wife?!

You must not have done a good job, because Jack looked up at you with weary eyes and chuckled humorlessly. “S’not what you’re thinkin’, sugar. That was a long time ago.” He sighed into his empty glass.

“You’re divorced?”

“Widowed.”

Oh shit. “Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t… God.”

“Nah, he ain’t bothered with me for a while,” Jack huffed. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. Twenty years, this year. Lost her and our baby, caught a stray bullet from a couple of junkies stickin’ up a convenience store.”

Your already fractured heart shattered for him then. For the third time that night, you reached for Jack, taking both his hands in yours, silently bridging the gulf of the table between you. “It reminds you of her? Being here?” you asked quietly. He nodded, a slow sad smile on his lips.

“It does. She woulda loved it. We were just young and broke and dumb in love when we got hitched, and then she got pregnant right away, so we never made good on the honeymoon. She deserved it, though. Wish I’d been able to give her more than she got.” Jack pursed his lips thoughtfully, looked like he might say something, but swallowed it back.

You paused before responding. “Sounds like you were lucky to love her, Jack. I’m sorry you lost her. Lost them both. That’s…” Your filter was still a little fuzzed with drink. “That’s so fucked up.”

Jack, shocked, threw his head back and barked a surprised laugh. “Y’know what, honey? It really is fucked up. I appreciate you not sugarcoatin’ it or some nonsense. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten empty platitudes over the years. They’re in a better place and that shit.” His nostrils flared with frustration.

You snorted. “Bull fucking shit.”

“Exactly, darlin’. Exactly.”

“Tell me about her.”

Jack’s eyes widened, confused.

“I mean, if you want. You don’t have to, it’s none of my business.” Stop talking. Stop talking. Just stop talking. “Just, if you want to talk about her, I’d like to know about her, about your family. Sorry…”

“No, no, sweetheart. No apologies necessary. I’d… well, I’d love to, truly.” Jack’s eyes glimmered, damp, streetlights reflecting in the dark brown of them. “Y’ caught me by surprise, but not in a bad way. Folks jus’ want to gloss over it and move past the whole thing. Makes most uncomfortable.”

You shrugged. “Not me. Tell me about the love of your life, storyteller.”

So, he did. The young, hopeful rodeo rider falling for the homecoming queen. The scrimping and saving from odd jobs around town to buy the only ring they could afford at the pawn shop. The small wedding in the community center, everybody sticky with sweat and gulping down paper cups of punch. Patchwork scrap quilts spread proudly over a creaky bed. Disastrous casserole attempts in the kitchen of a small mobile home. Cold bags of frozen peas pressed over dusty bruises, whispered admonishments to either get on a horse and stay put or get off for good. The soft swell of a round belly under a broad, rough palm. A porch swing’s squeaking chains a metronome in the humid evenings, two (and change) bodies pressed snug together.

Jack had loved, and been loved, well. And rather than the lick of jealousy or envy, you felt… welcomed. He was a gifted storyteller, you knew already, and he was charming, which was undeniable. But what you saw as he shared, as he granted you access to his world with bright eyes and a broad smile and an ache in his soul, was that Jack Daniels had a depth you’d never imagined lay under the hat (or the juit). No, he was something altogether new to you. Smooth, sweet, refreshing, warming you all the way through. Like his namesake, indeed.

The sharp scrape of metal against stone dragged your attention from your table mate. You realized suddenly that everybody else had left the small bar besides you and Jack, and the bartender was busying himself cleaning around you and stacking chairs, clearly trying to give you a respectful hint to please leave. “Sorry!” you hissed to him with a frantic wave, and grabbed for your bag under the table.

You turned back to Jack to see him already standing and pushing his own chair in. Rounding the table, he offered you an arm, and you pulled yourself to standing, keeping a gentle hand on it after you rose. He pressed a few bills to the tabletop and tipped his hat to the bartender, who nodded in thanks, and the two of you stepped out into the middle of the now empty street.

——————————————

“This was a real pleasure, hon. Thank you for talkin’ with me, lettin’ me reminisce a while. Felt good to remember. Feel better now lookin’ forward.” Jack’s face was soft, relaxed. Affection seeping through his features, he cleared his throat. “Now, may I be so bold as to offer to walk you back to your room?”

“Pleasure was mine. And yeah, that’d be nice, Jack. Let’s…take the long way, though.”

His expression went playfully stoic. “Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, leading you off the main road and down a side street.

“Been a while since I closed down a bar,” you snickered as you passed through buildings and emerged on the outskirts of the town center.

Jack grinned, tilted his head in the direction of a dirt path that appeared to wind through tall grass down along the shoreline. “That so?”

“Mhm. It’s way past my bedtime. I would’ve been curled up in bed with a book hours ago.”

“Well, shucks, it was mighty kind of you to keep a lonesome drunken cowboy distracted while he drowned his sorrows. Didn’t know I was keepin’ you.” His dimple deepened, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re surprisingly good company, Dr. Daniels,” you teased.

“Surprisingly?!” He pulled his arm from you, clasped his hands to his chest as if struck, taking exaggerated stumbling steps while you grinned after him. “And here I thought I was doin’ an alright job of charmin’ you.”

You caught up alongside and nudged him with your hip, smirking. “Didn’t say you weren’t, cowboy. Just didn’t know what kind of man was hiding behind that big ol’ mustache. Like I said, I thought it might be put on for the gig.”

“Hah! I’ve always been a bit of a character, that is true. Too much for many.” You’d reached the bluffs, and Jack slowed his steps as he turned to look out at the ocean, moon spilling out over its surface like glitter glue.

You slid to his side and threaded your arm around his waist, and he looked down at you with raised eyebrows and a gentle twist at the corner of his mouth.

“Nah, not too much.”

“You reckon?”

“I do reckon,” you laughed, and pressed your cheek against his chest, your eyes on the water. “I think you’re just right, Jack Daniels.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing his nose into your hair. You stood in companionable silence that way for several minutes while your thoughts swirled.

I deserve to have a good time. I want to have a good time. Jack is a good time. Jack is… good.

“Hey Jack?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Where are you staying?”

“Little bed and breakfast, back the way we came. Worried about me makin’ it back all by my lonesome?”

You shoved aside your oh my God what are you thinking instinct and reached out for his hat and pulled it on, cocking your head. “May I be so bold as to offer to walk you back to your room?” you drawled in a goofy imitation of him, smirking.

He put one hand on his hip and ran the other through his now-revealed (very soft-looking, very pullable) hair. “You may, honey. And as much as I’m missin’ my hat, I must admit you look a pretty picture in it. Are you playin’ at bein’ a cowgirl now?” His teeth flashed, smile stretching wide across his face in the moonlight.

“Oh, I know how to ride,” you snarked, low and heated. Holy shit, did I just…? You weren’t sure who was more surprised. Jack cackled and beamed, and in a flash he was grabbing your hand and ushering you back down the path towards town with swift strides.

“Let's hop to it, then, sweetheart, because I’d love to see that.”

You both nearly skipped as you went, sneaking through the night giggling like giddy teenagers. When you poked through between the buildings back by the bar you’d left some time before, approaching the bed and breakfast, Jack leaned in and bumped you softly with his shoulder.

“So, I spilled damn near all my secrets to you earlier tonight. When are you gonna return the favor?” He pointed two fingers in the direction of the front entrance as he talked.

“Hmm,” you mused, bringing a finger to your lips while he guided your bodies to the door and pulled it open. “Guess we’ll have to have another long conversation. You feel like talking when we get to your room?”

Jack laughed and reached for the hand at your mouth, bringing your fingertip to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. “Sure as hell do not.” Threading his fingers through yours, he led you up a set of stairs to a door and slipped a key from his jeans pocket, turning it in the lock with a soft click. He glanced at you over his shoulder as the door opened slowly, his expression hungry and longing. “Let’s discuss it over breakfast instead, sweet girl,” he husked, pulling you through the door and into his arms.

[devjockeys]

Bar stools with red suede.

[casspurrjoybell-20]

FOOLS - Chapter 32 - Part 1

BOOK ONE: The 'Fools Fall in Love' Trilogy

*Warning - Adult Content*

Samuel Moretti

"Holy fuck," exclaimed a shocked 'but also amused' looking Carter.

I was beyond mortified.

'BEYOND.'

My father had once walked in on me masturbating and then later gave me a talk about how it was normal and okay for me to do that.

I thought that was the worst thing that could happen to me.

'No.'

Carter walking in on Noah almost fingering me while both of us were naked, was the most humiliating thing of my entire life.

I contemplated if I should suffocate myself with my pillow.

So, embarrassment is how I felt. Noah?

Anger, pure, unadulterated anger.

Go figure.

"Carter, you fucker. Do you know how to fucking knock?" my boyfriend questioned with a tone of fury while I kept my head buried in my pillow 'I could breathe, chill'.

Carter laughed.

'Laughed.'

I peaked up from the pillow.

Carter's hands were raised in surrender.

"Hey, it's not my fault I walked in on you two fucking when I didn't even know you guys were fucking."

"I want to beat the fuck out of you, you know that?" Noah fumed, clutching the blanket that he had thrown on both of us.

Again, Carter didn't take Noah's threat and seething seriously.

"How long has this been going on? And who knows?" he questioned with excitement.

"For fuck's sake, Carter, get the fuck out," Noah demanded, his brown eyes were a shade darker and narrowed.

"Sure you don't want me to join?"

Noah gritted his teeth.

"Leave, dipshit."

"Okay, okay," he said, walking out chuckling.

I breathed out in relief.

Noah collapsed his head onto my chest and groaned in frustration.

Lacing my fingers through his hair, I told him...

"It's okay, Noah," as I stroked his hair.

It wasn't okay, it was unseemly and completely exposing but one of us had to calm the other down.

"First your sister and now Carter," Noah muttered in disgust.

Haven knowing about Noah and I was my fault, so guiltily I said...

"I know, I'm sorry people are finding out before you could tell them."

Noah looked up at me.

"Not that, dumbass. Us two fucking. Jeez, can"t I fuck my boyfriend, without being interrupted? Ugh," and his face was back in my chest.

I tried not to smile at that.

"It's okay, baby, we have plenty of time."

"What did you just call me?" Noah asked and met my eyes which widened once I realized what I said.

"Baby. Is... is that okay? Is that weird? I like it when you call me by my name. We, uh, don't have to use pet names, especially cliché ones, if uh, you don't... but if you do..."

Noah press his lips to mine and when he pulled away, he didn't seem angry anymore.

"I like being your baby."

I smiled.

"Okay, we should probably get dressed so I can beat the fuck out of Carter."

I roll my eyes, pushing Noah off of me.

"Please don't beat up our friend."

Noah and I met Carter waiting for us downstairs but with my mom in the kitchen 'which I hadn't known she was home and then I was slightly grateful that it was Carter who walked in and not my mother' we decided to go to my basement.

In the basement, off to the left, there's a big, grey, L-shaped couch facing an equally large television screen.

There was a 44-inch black, micro suede papasan chair and also a rainbow one 'Haven and I got those for Christmas one year. Mine's proudly the rainbow one'.

All furniture standing on top of a fuzzy rug.

Behind the couch was a pool table, a rack of pool sticks off to the side and on the left side of the basement, there was a mini bar and three stools.

"Damn, Sam, you rich or something?" Carter asked, as he rolled a pool ball into a slot.

"Have you seen his fucking house?" Noah muttered as he took a seat on the black papasan chair and leaned forward to grab a controller to my Play Station.

It was the latest version.

Noah's comment left an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

I never thought about the difference in living situations between Noah and myself.

Clearly, there was a great difference but I hadn't thought if that had bothered Noah until then.

"I'm not rich," I stated but was I?

I looked around, feeling guilty for all the things I had, knowing Noah had none of it.

Noah scoffed.

Which made me feel worse.

"So are you guys gonna tell me what's up or...?" Carter questioned as he plopped down on the couch.

"Piss off, Carter," Noah flipped him off and Noah was back to being angry?

I wished he had sat on the couch so I could sit next to him.

"Oh, come on, you guys can't be mad at me. I didn't even know you two were together."

I sighed, knowing he was right.

It was just an untimely and unfortunate situation.

"You could've let us know you were coming over earlier," Noah countered.

"I texted Sam."

I looked down at my cell-phone...

"Oh," I said because there was indeed a text 'I'll be there in 20 minutes. Is that cool?'

I gave Noah a sheepish smile, mouthing 'I'm sorry' while he gave me a death glare.

I sighed.

"Noah and I have only been together for literally three days," I finally told Carter.

Carter wolf whistled.

"Oh and you're already banging? You guys don't waste a second."

Before I knew it, Noah had jumped on Carter... butt first in a playful wrestling manner.

In between jabs to Carter's stomach, Noah exclaimed.

"We were trying to fuck, you shithead."

Carter was laughing and I felt relieved that Noah was back to a joking mood.

I really got dizzy from all his mood shifts.

"Okay. Okay. Mercy. I'm sorry. Get off me," Carter yelled, shoving Noah off of him.

"And if you could keep your stupid fucking mouth shut, we're trying to keep it on the down low," Noah explained as he handed Carter a controller before sitting back down in the papasan chair.

Carter wiggles his eyebrows, suggestively.

"Oh. Secret romance. Hot."

"Piss off," Noah told him which made me chuckle and we waited for our video game to load up.

[ddreamers-dont-die]

Two Makers of Sofa Beds Worth Considering

Sofa beds can be had that are both attractive and comfortable. The days of cheap, bar-in-the-back, nailed-to-the-floor heavy sofa beds are gone. Thankfully, those click here to learn more are no longer your only options. Consider the clean and functional offerings from Kiira Designs and Furniture FX. Both makers of top quality sofa beds.

Sofa beds are more than just an exciting dinner conversation topic. They have also become more than just a piece of heavy household furniture that only gets to be used when company comes over. In fact, the modern sofa bed is actually quite functional and attractive. That's much more than I can say for the one we had back in the 70's. Wow, what a beast that was! Manufacturers of sofa beds today are offering them in a wide variety of fabrics and designs. This article takes a look at several of the top companies making sofa beds today.

Perhaps one of the most attractive lines of sofa beds on the market today is made by a company called Kiira Designs. They have been in the furniture business for about 15 years and have facilities in Canada. They do all their manufacturing in North America. Their real strong suit is in making leather furniture. If you can think it up, they probably make it: ottomans, stools, recliners, chairs, theater seating and sofa beds. Of course, like any good manufacturer, Kiira offers their furniture pieces in not only leather, but also in other fabrics as well. Having lots of colors available also helps make it simpler to get exactly what you need to match your interior decor.  

And here's something they do that you may not have thought of, custom embroidery. They will actually embroider what you want right on the furniture. So, if you are particularly fond of a certain sport team, have an allegiance to one of the branches of the military, or want a wildlife or other scene put on your furniture, they can do it. This is a particularly nice offering for corporate furniture or as a unique gift idea. Top of the line design in top of the line leathers makes this one of the real contenders. Definitely a company worth considering when you go to purchase leather furniture or sofa beds.

Another company producing sofa beds worth serious consideration is Furniture FX. They make furniture that is chic in appearance that has a sort of retro look to it. Their offerings are a bit more affordable when compared to Kiira and others, yet are top quality and long-lasting. The sofa beds have a very high customer satisfaction rating as their unique European click clac mechanism is highly user friendly and functional. Their sofa beds do come in a variety of leathers, fabrics and textures, including the popular micro suede fabrics. The entire sofa easily tips back to reveal a hidden storage area beneath the seat. Great for helping to keep things organized. They use hardwood for their frames, so long life can be expected from these sofa beds.

[pforestsims]

✦ Retro Bar Chairs | Download (SFS)

Updated 10.XI.2022: Big Daddy chair add-on works properly now.

*All seats are repositoried to TS2 seatings - base game and NightLife EP.

More pics below the cut:

Please note that a few of the seat colours shown below are custom textures (defaults) I use in my game.

Polycount ranges from 700 to 1700 with an eception of Padded Blue Suede Bar Stool, this one is ~2300 poly.

Checkered seat recolour featured above is here (MTS).

The pair of bar stools below is a recreation of Central Perk Cafe interior furniture ("Friends" TV series). Seats pull textures from Club Sofa and Zecutime Cityside Sofa, so I've also included two recolours for those. The orange-yellow one is an actual pattern from the show. I'm not super happy with the flowers but I think it's close enough.

Enjoy!

🎀

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Meagan’s gorgeous home is so vibrant. It’s an apt. and while the decor wouldn’t be renter friendly for me, I admire tenants that are able to do this. She chose pretty pink retro wallpaper in the entrance to add pizzazz.

When she bought this lush velvety blue chair she didn’t measure and didn’t realize how big it was. But, she found the perfect corner for it  

Look at this cool IKEA mirror upgrade - she has a tutorial on her web page. Just click below. 

This is a table & chairs, but it’s actually a small office space. The room wears many hats - aside from being an office / studio it houses some of her clothes, accessories, office supplies, beauty products, camera & lighting equipment.

Megan was thinking updating the bar stools in leather, but she discovered these stunning blue suede ones.

Megan says a bedroom should be your sanctuary. She ordered a few bouquets of Tulips and got to work strategically placing them in every corner and crevice that she could fit them for a spring pop of color. 

Terrace before.

With some help from Command outdoor clips and hooks. Megan gave the terrace a much needed upgrade.

http://www.tfdiaries.com/

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [14K] PART ONE OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

And, baby, for you I would fall from grace

He came into the dining room of the club one Saturday afternoon. Sunkissed, tall, broad, stubble on his jaw and a gold chain glinting from the collar of his white shirt. He had a navy sweater draped over his shoulders, expensive sunglasses in his shirt's front pocket, an unassuming looking leather strapped watch on his wrist - but you’d learned well before then how to tell the difference between new money and old money.   

And Steve Harrington was old, old money. 

The watch cost more than your car and a year's rent on your apartment. Fuck, it cost more than you’d probably ever make working behind the bar of Hawkins’ country club. It cost more than the short black dress you were made to wear, the one that cinched you in at the waist and flared out over your thighs. It shone more than the gold plated name badge that was pinned on your chest, making your plunging neckline even more obvious. It cost more than the black heels that were part of your uniform, more than the five dollar balm that made your lips glossy and peach coloured. 

But still, Steve Harrington and his old, old money noticed you. 

—————

The restaurant was full, the bar even busier, the smoking lounge that sat through the double doors stuffed with leather chairs, studded couches, velvet footstools and table lined with cigars in wooden boxes. The full place smelled like bourbon and smoke, expensive cologne, perfume that cost even more. 

The Lake House country club was Hawkins’ finest institute, an old Manor House that was built on the shore of Lovers Lake, across the water from where teens liked to lurk in their cars and between tree trunks. The Lake House was where the town's elite came to dine, to drink, to lounge and talk. There were brunches with champagne and whisky, afternoon tea with ladies who wore diamonds and pearls, dinners with wine from 1802 and business meetings on the golfing green. Money poured from the club and filled the cracks in the old bricks, men with their daddy’s money bringing in their daughters, their sons, their wives. And when the family drove home in their Bentley, girlfriend’s arrived in red bottomed shoes, perching on laps in the smoking lounge like it was their jobs. 

Maybe it was. You weren’t supposed to ask. 

Your job was to stay behind the bar, a huge mahogany thing that took up most of the back wall. Everything was dark wood and lined with green velvet, the bar stools suede and gold studded, the bottles of alcohol on the glass shelves nothing less than a month's paycheck each. Martini glasses glittered, whisky was in the air like car fumes and the lime you were cutting into wheels was making the cut on your finger pulse.  

He walked in then, into the busy room like he owned it. The Harringtons were certainly wealthy enough to do so, but Michael Harrington and his wife simply liked to dine at the club on Sundays, take up on the tennis courts midweek and finish the day at the spa with a massage each. 

Six hundred dollars a session to hire out the court, four hundred dollar scotch, three hundred dollar steaks (eighty dollars more for the potato dauphinoise), five hundred dollars for a couples massage. Oh, and a one hundred dollar tip for the fucker unfortunate enough to have to deal with them. 

In cash, of course. 

But their son? Steve Harrington moved out of Hawkins long before anyone could work out if he’d grow up to be as cold as his father. Away from small towns, rumour had it he went to New York, an apartment in Manhattan, a job on Wall Street where he started at the bottom and worked his way up on luck, expensive vodka and daddy’s money. But then again, others said he spent his summers in Europe, talks of Italian villas, vineyards in Tuscany, selling yachts to the elite in Cannes, spending his time trading money through casinos, long months in Monaco during the spring. 

Seeing him back in Hawkins was unusual, uncommon, a goddamn rarity - but there he was, letting himself drop into the barstool in front of you like a Greek god etched from marble so expensive that you could barely afford to look at it. He sat with a friend, another twenty something that looked more man than boy because of their tailored trousers, crisp shirts, linen and cashmere and gold on their wrists, round their necks, family rings on their hands. 

Steve Harrington didn’t click his fingers at you like other members of the club did when they demanded to be served, but he did rap two knuckles against the bar top, a gold band on his middle finger hitting the wood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, careful and cuffed just below his elbows, the top three buttons undone to show off tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. More gold, a thin chain settling in the dip of his throat, stubble along his jaw that looked like it was there deliberately, not because he’d forgotten to shave. 

You held your breath when you approached. You’d never served the youngest Harrington before - fuck, you’d never seen him here - but you knew who he was and the reputation dripped from him. 

Old money, older estates, acres of land, shares in companies that were so ridiculously rich you didn’t know what they were for. Fast cars, scandals in Europe, yachts with his name on it.  

Stomach in knots, you straightened up, smoothed down then front of your dress and put on the same smile you used for all the club members. “Gentlemen,” you greeted, “what can I get you both?”

Steve looked at you but his friend didn’t, his back to you as he surveyed the room, mumbling comments about the lack of skirt that showed up this early in the afternoon. You recognised him, a regular in the later evenings, Jonathan Byers, a fiend for a good cigar, an even bigger fan of the girls that held the poker events on weekends. 

“Two Macallans,” Steve told you, already fishing out a money clip from his trouser pocket. The clip was gold, engraved with his initials: SMH. “Twenty year reserve, no ice.”

He really looked at you then, thumbing through one hundred dollar bills, eyes raking up and down your frame as you stood and listened diligently. Even when you turned to pull the bottle of scotch off the top shelf, you could feel him watching, one eyebrow quirked, full lips parted just a little, the top of his tongue peeking from between. Steve looked interested, intrigued. Maybe just a little less bored than before. 

You kept your head down, polishing the tumblers before you poured, a three finger amount of the dark amber liquid and the smell of fire and smoke filled your nose. You’d watched enough men sit around the bar and swirl their drinks under the nostrils, waffling about notes of chocolate and spice before they sipped. It all smelled the same, no matter what price was on the label, like car fuel and burning. Steve downed the drink in one when you handed it to him, like he wasn’t swallowing liquid fire that cost him more than you’d make in a week. 

You watched as his throat bobbed, his lips coming away from the rim of the glass a little glossy, how he licked over his bottom one to catch any alcohol that lingered. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and charm before he passed you six hundred dollars in notes. 

You nodded your thanks and went to the cash register, smiling what you hoped was politely as you tried to hand him back his change. Ninety dollars, pressed neatly in a pile of twenties and tens. The boy waved you off, still paying a lot of attention to the bare skin along your neckline, gaze running up the column of your throat. His eyes found yours when he finally spoke and god, they were the same colour as the scotch he just shotted.  

“Keep the change, honey.” Steve smiled again, a smug thing that made you aware of how warm your cheeks were. Then he slid on a pair of sunglasses he took from his shirt pocket and pushed his hair back with a hand, nudging his friend to drink up before they both slid off the stools. “Just make sure it goes in your own pocket, okay?”

You gaped at him. The Lake House’s policy when it came to tips - no matter how generous - was for them to be placed in a jar in the back office, ready to be split between staff, however hard individuals had worked, or not worked, that shift. 

The money burnt your fingers. “Um, that’s very generous but I can’t—”

Steve lifted a navy sweater he’d draped on the back of his chair, crushing the soft fabric with one hand. He used the other to reach out, plucking the bills from your fingers so he could fold them all together. His gaze met yours when he leaned back over the bar, unblinking, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your chest when he tucked the money into the neckline of your dress. It stayed there, hidden and you had to snap your jaw shut when Steve grinned at you before he pulled away. 

He raised a finger to his lips, like you were sharing a secret and not a sackable offence and his friend snorted, like he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had. 

“See you next time, honey,” Steve drawled, fishing keys out of his pocket. The silver logo of BMW glinted in the low lighting. “Thanks for the drinks.”

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington. 

Just to touch your face

The next time, he was with a group of people in the smoking lounge, all of them loud, most of them dirty rich and he had a girl on his lap. A waifish thing, pretty and delicate with a ruby pendant that settled in the dip of her chest. She held a martini glass aloft, one that you had to refill and you cursed The Lake House and its rules as your heels taptaptapped across the marble tiles. The hem of your dress swished across your thighs, your hand held a gold tray and the fresh martini swirled in its glass atop it, a well practised movement that made sure none of it spilled. The olive inside tumbled around gin and vermouth. 

Inside of the lounge, smoke billowed. Cigars and cigarettes poised between fingertips, hanging from lips that couldn’t help but spill secrets about their dirty businesses, the people they slept with before, the people they’d bed tonight. Nobody moved out of your way as you squeezed past tables and between the low sofas, leather and velvet brushing the backs of your thighs until you were able to present Steve Harrington’s lap warmer with her new drink. 

She took it from your tray, replaced it with her empty glass and said nothing. It was her hand on Steve’s chest that caused him to look away from the men he was talking with, a hushed sounding discussion about money in Monaco, about the company and its takings for that summer. He frowned at the girl and her pawing until he caught sight of you, his lips lifting in a smile that seemed more dangerous than welcoming. 

You smiled back, polite to a fault, throat going dry when you watched Steve’s gaze drop to that bare expanse of skin above your neckline. It wasn’t obscene, it wasn’t even suggestive. In fact, there was barely any amount of cleavage on show at all per the clubs rules but Steve was fixated on a freckle below your collarbone and the feel of his eyes on you made you fidget. 

You tucked the tray under one arm and tried not to shuffle on the spot. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

There was something in Steve’s reaction to your question. Maybe it was the ‘sir,’ the way you tipped your head towards him when you said it, soft and gentle and pretty. He knew you had to call all the members of the club such niceties but Steve’s eyes flashed and his lips parted, the hand he had on the arm of the sofa curling around the leather a little tighter. 

“A Macallan,” he asked, just like the first time. “No—”

“No ice,” you finished for him, nodding. “I’ll bring that right over.”

You blew out a breath when you turned, heels clicking on the marble as you made your way back to the bar. The lights were dimmed throughout the club in the evening, wall sconces letting out a warm glow, the huge fireplace in the main lounge roaring, popping and cracking with wooden logs. The whole place smelled like pine, like cedar and smoke and expensive leather. Women laughed softly, hanging off their husbands arms, dripping in pearls, in jewels, in false pretences. You smiled nicely at passing club members as you poured Steve’s drink, hands a little shaky from you out down to missing your lunch break, not excitement.

Definitely not nerves. 

You placed the chilled glass back on the tray, amber liquid shining inside the crystal, and made your way to the smoking lounge. Steve was alone when you returned, his lap empty, the girl gone. Not just from his lap, but from the room entirely. You scanned the lounge, expecting to see her on her way back, maybe with a complaint about the drink you made her, just to make you feel small but no - she’d been removed. Your heart skipped, an awful stuttering feeling that you didn’t want to feel. Lowering the tray, you offered Steve his drink, gaze cast down as you felt his on you the entire time. Steve leaned up, too close, taking his drink and smiling at you. 

You were just about to leave when:

“Why don’t you join me?”

The rest of the room was as loud as it was before, music under voices, laughter mixed with a saxophone record, conversations in the smoke. But Steve’s voice rang out almost too clearly from amongst it all. Still, you blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Sorry?”

Steve nodded at the seat next to him as he sank back into the couch, an arm thrown over the back of it as he took a sip of his scotch. The watch on his wrist caught the low light as he ripped the glass against his lips, cheeks flushed from the log burner. 

He was dressed in what you assumed he’d deem a little more casual than the last time you saw him. A black silk shirt, short sleeved and with the top few buttons undone again. No visible label, no ostentatious brand name on the chest but you knew well enough by then to know that just meant it was even more expensive. Black trousers, tailored for him and a pair of black boots with a sharp toe. His hair was less styled, maybe from the way his lost friend had been running her fingers through it earlier. Strands of it fell into his eyes and you swallowed hard when you realised you were staring. 

“Take a seat,” Steve asked again, lips curling up in amusement at your flustered expression. 

You blinked at him before you remembered to stand back up straight, tucking the tray back under your arm and hoping that none of the club's managerial staff were lingering nearby. You’d already spent too long away from the bar. “I, um, I can’t. I’m sorry,” you pressed your lips together and tried not to look too regretful. “I'm working.”

Steve snorted, a sound that should’ve been more unattractive than it was but it only made you want to hear what he had to say. He took another pull of his drink, barely wincing when the burn of it trickled down his throat. You did the maths in your head, wondering how it felt to be swallowing seventy dollar sips. He raised his brows and shrugged, looking around theatrically.

“And?” The boy smiled, equal parts pretty and smug. 

You were a little flustered, both at how nice he looked when he smiled and how bold he was being. You opened and closed your lips before parting them again, another polite smile there. “I need to get back to the bar,” you explained. “I’ll get into tr—”

“Trouble?” Steve finished. He shook his head and grinned, a megawatt thing that made you understand that, yes, all the rumours were true. That the famed Harrington Charm was very much a thing. But fuck, his father didn’t smile at you like that. In fact, he didn’t smile at all. “Oh, honey. No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Worried Frederick is gonna fire you?”

Steve dropped the name of your manager like they were friends. They probably were. He looked at you expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, licking the liquid from his lips. You wondered if he tasted as expensive as his liquor choices. 

You nodded, shrugging, grasping for a reason to say no to this boy - this man. The line at the bar was growing, annoyed looking men clicking their fingers at a flustered looking new girl who was trying to pour champagne into a wine glass. Guilt gnawed at your stomach. 

“He won’t fire you,” Steve assured. He patted the leather next to him, gold ring glinting in the warm light. “C’mon. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

You couldn’t help yourself. 

“Do you always get what you want?” You said it quietly, watching Steve’s lips curl into a grin when he heard. 

Another smile, mega watt, just for you. He tipped his head back and laughed, a pretty sounding thing that made the muscles down his neck stand out, chin tilted up to the gold leafed ceiling. 

“Yeah,” he told you, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed from the fire, the lights, the scotch. “I do.” 

You shouldn’t have done it. You weren’t allowed. There were strict rules about staff mingling with club members - fuck, it was written in red ink on your contract. You were too used to some of the clientele pushing the limits, trying to soften your boundaries with wads of cash, talks of a private plane to some European city where their wife didn’t like to visit. Older men, rich men, business men, family men. All looking for someone young and easily led and agreeable to have fun with between meetings and luncheons, someone to light their cigar and top up their drink for them. They liked to look at you like something to eat up, to chew up, to spit out when they were done and Frederick inevitably hired someone new and younger and prettier. 

You’d seen it happen before. Girls sucked into the lifestyle they could never have, coming into work with new shoes, red bottomed heels with their uniform dress, a Chanel lipstick in their purse, a Porsche waiting outside for them after their shift finished and in the end, a scorned wife in the dining room ready to throw a drink over them. 

You’d seen it all.  

But Steve Harrington was looking at you with so much intrigue. A pretty smile behind his tiny glass of three hundred dollar scotch, messy hair, bright eyes, that black silk shirt that looked easy to slip your fingers into. He was younger, more subtle with it all but the easy confidence in which he spoke to you had you squeezing your thighs together and wondering if your chest would stop feeling as tight. 

It didn’t. 

You sat down. 

Steve grinned, victorious and he moved against the leather sofa so he was sitting back against the arm, turned to face you fully. He brought one foot up to rest on his other knee, hand curling around his leg, and from there you could see the tiny brand on his loafers, a little gold insignia. Yves Saint Laurent. You wanted to laugh. His shoes cost more than you made in three months. 

“What’s your name?” Steve asked. 

You wore the same gold plated pin that every other staff member wore. The Lake House engraved on it along with the logo, a stupidly elaborate key. Underneath, your name was printed in bold letters, but Steve wasn’t looking at it. He was watching your face, brows raised expectantly. He wanted to hear you speak. 

Pressing the tray to your lap, you lingered on the edge of the couch, eyes darting around for your boss, or worse, the girl this man was last seen with. Was it his girlfriend? Did he have a wife? You weren’t sure how old Steve was, but you didn’t see a ring on his wedding finger, not that that meant much in a place like The Lake House. Wedding bands frequented coat pockets more than fingers here. 

You swallowed and told him your name, your voice cracking with nerves that you tried to laugh at but that came out wobbly too. Your shyness made Steve grin a little wider, his wide hands curling around his ankle as he lounged back against the cushions and appraised you with a look that shouldn’t have been proper for public. 

He repeated your name back to you and it sounded so much sweeter on his lips. He said it slowly, a low murmur that made your tummy clench, like he was tasting it out, tasting it on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Steve Harr—”

You laughed, sharp and surprised. “I know who you are, Mr Harrington.”

If Steve was shocked by his news, he didn’t show it. It was your job to know the members, after all. Their names, their families, the work they were in. Their favourite table, their favourite drink, the time they liked to dine, their preferred slot for playing a round of golf. So instead he smiled and nodded before holding out a hand. 

You took it and he squeezed gently, shaking it politely as he said, “well then, please call me Steve.”

You nodded, wondering if that was allowed. None of this was allowed. Fuck, you glanced around again, eyes a little wide, wondering if Frederick was in his office, god forbid, watching you through the cameras. Steve must’ve noticed this, because he swallowed down the last of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. You’d have to move it soon. 

“Relax.” His arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, tanned and corded with lithe muscles. His fingers tapped a beat on the leather, close to your shoulder. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You laughed, a shaky, ironic sounding thing. You forgot who you were talking to, just for a second, your heart pumping. “That’s easy for you to say.” You swore then, a pained noise, because Frederick was marching out of his office, three piece suit right across his shoulders and his pocket watch swinging.

He was coming over. 

You made a noise similar to a squeak, drinks tray clutched to your chest and you made to jump up but Steve’s hand stopped you. Warm and wide, it took up most of your knee and you blinked at it in surprise. He didn’t move it when you stared at him and he still didn’t move it when Frederick approached, red faced and nostrils flaring. 

“Mr Harrington, sir, it’s so good to see you back at The Lake House,” your manager began, his voice a well practised purr. There was a slight British tinge to his voice, one you knew was fake. “Please take my sincerest apologies for you being bothered. I’ll be asking my staff to join me in the office for a much required conversation about professional boundaries. Please excu—”

“Fred,” Steve greeted warmly, his smile much more forced than the one he’d been giving you. Frederick twitched. “Nice to see you.” Steve’s hand still covered your lower thigh and squeezed slightly, in what you thought was supposed to be reassuring but his thumb on the inside of your knee made you too warm. “No need for anything like that, actually.” Steve said your name, wrapped it around his tongue and licked over his lip like he was savouring it before he continued. “—was invited to sit with me.”

The clubhouse manager hardened, a flash of annoyance going over his features and his neck grew more red in anger. He smiled through it, a tight lipped thing that Steve grinned at and you had to duck your head, panic ripping through your body. You couldn’t lose this job. 

“How nice,” Frederick finally ground out. He clasped his hands in front of him and glared at you from the sides of his eyes before he smiled at Steve again. “I hope my staff is doing her utmost to keep you pleased, Mr Harrington. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

You hated the way he said it, like any club member could get anything they wanted from you, just because they had enough money to be here. It made you square off your shoulders and lift your head, emboldened. Steve was watching you, that look of intrigue on his face once more. He nodded at Frederick and then gestured to his empty glass. 

“Actually, Freddie, could you be a pal and fetch me another?” His tone was too polite, bordering on patronising. Frederick’s tight smile grew tighter, a thin line that stretched across his ruddy face until you feared it might split. “A Macallan, no ice. Anything for the lady?” Steve turned to you and winked, a subtle thing that let you know everything was under control. 

But you knew better than to rock the boat, better than that, you knew not to drink on the job. Especially from the club’s bar. The only thing you could afford from behind the mahogany counter was the one thing Steve always refused. Ice. 

“No, thank you,” you murmured. 

Your manager had no choice but to walk away, his back rigid, proverbial steam coming out from his ears. You watched him snap Steve’s order at a poor, unsuspecting barman who then brought it back over on another shiny tray. He raised his brows at you when Steve thanked him for it and you shrugged, not knowing what was going on either. 

When he left, Steve turned back to you, leaning back into the sofa. He looked more tanned that the last time you’d seen him. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the warm glow from the sconces along the walls, the amber coloured shade on the lamp beside him. Maybe he’d just been back to Italy. 

Monaco. France. Spain. 

He took a sip, eyes dancing over you and when he brought the drink back down to rest on his knee, he spoke. “Have you worked here long?”

It took you a second to realise he was speaking to you again, his voice lower and softer than it had been with your boss. You noticed Steve has a habit of direct eye contact, always looking right into your own eyes as he spoke. It was a little jarring, the confidence, that bold type of charm that must come with always getting what you want. 

“Uh, yeah,” you scrunched your nose, trying to remember months and years. “Three years now, or close enough.”

“I should’ve come back sooner,” Steve quipped back, his smile easy, his eyes roaming over you. His ring tapped against his glass of scotch and you didn’t know what to do. Was he flirting with you? “Do you live in town?”

“Couple miles out, smaller place near Sugar Creek.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this. 

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve replied. “Makes sense, why I hadn’t seen you around before. Did you go to school ‘round here?”

You felt like you were being interviewed. A handsome, rich man asking the questions, sitting easy in his throne and you had an awful, awful urge to please him with your answers. To do good. To be praised. 

“I went to St. Mary’s High in Green Bay,” you swallowed, your tongue feeling too big for you mouth. Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Then I was supposed to move to California— Berkeley.” You winced, remembering. 

Steve looked surprised, eyebrows raised, nodding. “What was your major?”

“Social law.”

Steve hummed. “Smart girl.” There it was. That praise. You tingled with it. “What happened?”

You heard the words he didn’t say, the unasked question. ‘Why aren’t you there? Why are you here? Wearing that silly little dress and heels that hurt your feet and that fake, fake smile that makes your cheeks hurt so much you want to scream into your pillow when you get home every night?’

You pondered over what to say. How truthful to be. How blunt, how ugly and honest. Shit, you could’ve said. Family, parents, money, bad luck, worse circumstances. Housing, a broken down car, an apartment that fell through at the last minute, a scholarship that didn’t happen, an aunt that got sick, a mom who didn’t like to let go. 

Instead you smiled politely and said: “life.” 

Steve gave you a wry smile in return, one that told you he could see through it all and he knew exactly what you wanted to say. Like he knew you weren’t allowed to and you were playing by the rules. Frederick was at the bar, staring at your back until you felt your bones crunch with the weight of it. 

Steve finished his drink, slid his glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. “It was nice to talk to you,” he said simply. He took your hand, not to shake it like last time, no. Instead he held it for a beat or two, and when he took his away, neatly folded bills were left between your fingers. They burned. 

“For the table service,” he said as a way of explaining. You didn’t know if he meant the drink or you. “I’ll see you next time, honey.”

And then he left. You watched him saunter through the bar, nodding and smiling at people who greeted him, taking his jacket from someone at the door and then he was gone. 

That was the second time you met Steve Harrington. 

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

A week later you were clocking into work with the intention of heading to the staff locker rooms, ready to wrestle yourself into that black dress the club called a uniform. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and The Lake House was quiet, a few greying women you knew to be part of the book club were sat having tea by a window, a group of men leaving the gym, sweat barely there, but the towels over their shoulders had designer logos stitched in the corners. 

Frederick found you with your heels in your hand, a look of disgust on your face as you kicked off your sneakers. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the girls locker room, but he shook his head at you and took the stilettos from your hand. 

“No,” he looked irritated, as if you should’ve known better. “You’re on the green today.”

You screwed up your nose at him. You were never on the green and you told him as such. “The schedule has me in the bar all day.”

Frederick huffed as if such questions were an inconvenience to him. He ducked, rooting around in your locker as his shoulder bumped your knee and he came back with the uniform you hardly had to wear. A white tennis skirt, bordering on too short with pleats that made the men tip well, even as their wives glared. A forest green sweater to match, the same colour as the club logo, white sneakers that were brand new from never being used. 

“Special request,” your boss told you in lieu of a real explanation. “Get dressed, they’re waiting. Hurry.”

You gaped at him as he bundled the clothes into your arms. “Who’s waiting?” You called after him. “What hole?”

“Any of them,” Frederick yelled back as he walked out of the locker room and down the hall. His voice echoed back to you, a daunting thing. “He booked out the whole course.”

Driving the beer cart over the green was always a nerve wracking experience. The drinks rattled noisily and the breeze kept catching at your skirt, threatening to flip it up over your thighs as you tried to manoeuvre the buggy around the man made dunes and valleys. You weren’t sure where you were driving to, or who you were going to meet, but you kept an eye out at each hole for someone, anyone. 

It could only really be one of two people, you guessed. Mr Donaldson was harmless enough, but he had a decade or three on your own age. Divorced and the owner of a film company in Atlanta, the man liked to frequent the clubhouse during the summers he spent back in Hawkins, pretending he was visiting his young daughter when he really preferred to lounge at the bar during your shift, trying to convince you that you just needed to see his condo in Georgia. 

The only other person you could think of that would request you and you alone, was someone you haven't seen since the week before. You’d looked for him, watched the cars coming into the lot to be dropped off for the valet’s to park but you hadn’t seen any BMW’s. Steve didn’t visit the bar, didn’t spend any afternoons in the smoking lounge - you didn’t even see him with Jonathan Byers at the poker night on Tuesday. 

You thought he might’ve left town again. Back to whatever European city he’d decided on for the week, for the month. Maybe he’d gone back to New York, maybe he had meetings. Maybe he had a girlfriend, one for each country. 

Mr Donaldson was the harmless option. Annoying, sure. But bearable. Safe. Mr Harrington… he wasn’t harmless at all. You knew which one you wanted to see. 

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich. 

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water. 

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco. 

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

A few other men lingered, clutching at clubs and practising their swings, Wall Street leeches that were stuck at the bottom of the totem pole but still decided they had enough money in their daddies bank to be able to click their fingers at you and smack your ass as their Rolex’s jingled.  

Amongst them all, in black slacks and a white polo, was Steve Harrington. Sunglasses over his eyes, leather golfing gloves on his hands, he was smirking at something Eddie said before his head snapped to you. In fact, everyone was staring at you. 

You tried to keep your head high and your expression neutral, turning off the engine to the golf cart and doing your best to swing your legs out without flashing anything you weren’t supposed to. You kept your hands on your skirt, smoothing it down, hoping that you could get through this shift without any embar—

A long whistle, salacious and eager, coming from Billy Hargrove. A few of the boy’s laughed and Billy grinned, sharklike, letting his eyes crawl from your toes to your tits. “Damn, Harrington. You paid for one of the good ones, huh? C’mere, Sugar, daddy needs a drink—”

You were frozen, standing awkwardly by the back of the buggy where the drinks were kept in a cooler, a thousand dollar pick ‘n’ mix of whisky, scotch and gin for the men to choose from. There wasn’t any Bud Light at The Lake House, not even on the green. 

But Billy didn’t get much further into his catcalls, stopped by a hand on his elbow that tugged him away from you and the other men. The snickering stopped, a heavy silence falling over the group as Steve took Billy aside with nothing more than a touch to his arm. You watched as Steve slid his sunglasses off, his hard gaze on the other boy as he whispered something too low for you to hear. But Billy listened, albeit with a glare in his eyes, but he nodded, sharp and just once. His jaw flexed. 

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know what to do. You found Eddie’s gaze, saw his soft smile, knowing. He winked at you, twirling a club in his hand as he waited for the game to continue. And it did, once Steve seemingly dismissed Hargrove. The other men started talking again, easy and light like nothing had happened, requesting different drinks from you that you pulled out of the cooler, ice making your hands wet and numb. 

And all the while Steve lingered at the back of them, sitting in the driver's side of the other golf cart, waiting with his eyes on you. He didn’t approach once Jonathan left with his glass of Glenfiddich, in fact, he didn’t make out like he wanted a drink at all. So you stood by the cart like you were supposed to and watched the men take turns at swinging a stick at a ball, yelling profanities when they missed, yelling more profanities when they didn’t. 

You couldn’t help let your gaze wander to Steve, the picture of luxury as he leaned back in the leather seat, one leg out of the cart and stretched across neatly clipped grass. He was lighting a cigarette, held between his lips as he lowered his gaze to his cupped hands, gold zippo flickering with an amber flame. He looked up as he blew out the smoke, eyes finding yours, grinning when you startled. 

Steve took another drag and asked, “you not comin’ to say hi?”

Three years of ingrained obedience made your feet move forward, doing as you were told at the words of another rich man. You felt unsure, walking across the green empty handed, but Steve hadn’t asked for a drink, so you stopped just shy of where his leg was stretched out of the cart. If you moved any closer, you would’ve been between his spread knees. You clasped your hands in front of you, pressed against your little, white skirt. It lifted a little with the breeze, a sharper wind than the day before that told the town fall was coming. 

Steve watched the hem catch and fall back against your thighs, brown eyes tracking the movement to see what little new skin he could watch but apart from that, he didn’t make any of the lewd comments his friend had. 

“Mr Harrington,” you said as a greeting. “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?” You were polite to a fault, well trained, good mannered, an expert in making yourself small and only seen when spoken to. 

Steve ignored your question. He inhaled his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing out, lips pursing, jaw sharpening. He smiled at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, the wind taking it away from your face. “I told you to call me Steve,” he said and his voice was quiet, a low thing that made your face heat up. You tried to apologise, but he kept talking. “How are you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question. You didn’t think you’d ever been asked that while at work. “Uh, I’m fine, thank you. How’re you?”

Steve nodded and flicked ash onto the grass, letting it sink into the course. “I’m great, thank you. Better now you’re here.” He grinned when you fidgeted, lips parting, hands unsure what to do. You twisted your fingers together a little tighter. “You okay being out here?” Steve let the cigarette balance between his lips and you watched it move as he spoke around it. “I can let you go back inside, if you’d like.”

Normally such words would be used as a trick, a trap, a warning. A subtle threat from an unhappy customer that would ensure you did as they wanted, even if it meant staying later than you were being paid for, adding extra time to their spa passes, even if it risked your own employment. But Steve looked and sounded genuine, his eyes watching you as you worked up the courage to tell him the truth.  

“It’s okay,” you finally said, voice betraying how shy you felt. You sounded confident, in control. You felt nothing of the sort, especially when the boy grinned again, wider this time and god, he looked like he owned the world and everything in it. 

“Excellent.” Steve flicked the stub of his cigarette away and pushed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head at the empty seat beside him and said: “jump in.”

You stuttered over an excuse, an explanation, eyes a little wide as you looked back over to the rest of the group, the drinks cart you were supposed to man all day. “I— I can’t? I’ve to stay with the cart all day, if I leave it I’ll get into—”

Steve cut you off with a tsk and a shake of his head. His voice turned to liquid gold as he spoke, rich and sweet and awfully condescending. It made you drip. “What did I tell you last time, huh, honey? No one’s gonna tell you off unless it’s me. Now c’mon, you don’t wanna spend some time with me?”

You could’ve stayed. You were sure Steve wouldn’t have been mad. You should’ve stayed. You were breaking rules. All of them. But Steve was grinning at you from the front seat of the golf cart, tanned arms flexed as his leather gloves gripped the wheel and all of his friends played pretend, like they couldn’t hear what was going on behind them as they took another swing. 

You should’ve stayed. Maybe went back into the clubhouse, took off your sweater and skirt and played nice behind the bar in your usual attire, serving clients old enough to be your grandfather as they slipped fifty dollar bills into your hand just so you’d lean over for them again. 

You got in the cart. 

Steve positively beamed, a hot smirk that stretched across his pretty face and you barely heard the whistles and yowls of his friends as he sped away as fast as the buggy would allow. He went off course, cruising alongside the green and heading towards the path between the woods that took you to lovers lake. 

“Feeling bad today, Berkeley?” The nickname caused your heart to jump, confirmation that he’d been listening the last time you both spoke, that he’d remembered. 

But still guilt and worry gnawed at your chest and you looked around at the empty course, half expecting to see Frederick chasing after you both in the drinks cart you’d abandoned so carelessly. What did it matter, really? The price of everything in the cart was included in whatever it had cost for Steve to book out the entire fucking course for the day. A stolen scotch or two didn’t matter. Not really. 

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t say anything at all, just sitting by Steve’s side like a baby deer caught in headlights, like a good little girl that wanted to know if it really was true, if Steve really could keep you out of the trouble he was leading you into. The boy must’ve seen your bleak expression ‘cause he laughed, pushing back the hair that the wind blew across his forehead. 

“Honey, it’s fine,” Steve glanced over at you as he turned down the dirt path to the lake. You could see his eyes shining at you through his shades, amusement making them glitter. “I promise.”

So you nodded and tried to smile, doing your best to relax into the seat and when the cart bumped over a fallen branch that Steve didn’t bother to avoid, the jostle of it made your thigh bump into his. He grasped at your knee as an apology of sort, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the wind, but his palm engulfed your bare knee once more and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else. His gold ring looked pretty against your skin, his tanned hand complimenting the dough of your thigh nicely and you tried to remember how to talk. 

“Is there something you needed my help with at the lake, Mr Harrington?” You didn’t think Steve needed any help on how to work speed boats or jet skis, but still, you weren’t sure what else to say. 

Steve laughed again, a pretty sound that made your toes curl and he slowed the cart to a stop at a shaded area along the shore, far enough away from the sandy embankment that the men on the lake in their fishing boats wouldn’t be able to see you. “C’mon now, I thought you were a smart thing,” Steve pouted at you as he turned off the cart's engine. His hand left your leg and you mourned the loss of it, heart jumping again when his hand curled around the back of your seat instead. “What did I tell you to call me?”

Your chest warmed like you were back in middle school, getting scolded by a teacher who you didn’t want to disappoint. It bloomed across your neck and face, only getting hotter as the entire sensation of it made you squeeze your clasped hands between your thighs. Steve’s gaze dropped to your lap, a quick glance down that made the corners of his lips curve up. 

“Steve,” you said quietly, sounding shy, reserved. Your body was giving away too much, you couldn’t let your voice join in. 

Steve nodded and the hand that was resting against your seat moved a little, brushing against your sweater until he could rub a thumb against your shoulder blade. “See, she’s a smart girl after all, isn’t she?”

You could only nod. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the trees, on the edge of the water that was across from where you usually spent weekday afternoons. You could see The Lake House from here, could practically feel Frederick’s gaze out of the bay windows, boring a hole into the middle of your forehead as you sat with one of the most affluent clients on the rolodex. Steve Harrington had his arm around your back, his eyes on your bare thighs, his other hand ghosting along the hem of your skirt. He pulled at it, bringing it down the mere centimetre it had ridden up, knuckles skimming your too hot skin. 

He didn’t look away from it when he asked you: “And if you are a clever, little thing, d’you know why I brought you here?”

If it had been dark, if it had been closer to night, if the grounds had been empty and the lake was still, maybe you would’ve felt more scared than you were. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would have been sitting there in the shadow of the trees and cursing yourself out for being so stupid. Going with this boy - this man - letting him take you off alone and away from prying eyes, letting him touch your leg and get too close. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Despite what Steve said, this wasn’t smart, was it?

But you found that you didn’t care. You really didn’t fucking care. Not one bit. 

You shrugged, cheeks warm, too wary to say anything out of turn, too cautious to say anything too bold for fear of losing your job. Or worse, being rejected. 

Steve pouted. “No?” He tutted and sighed, a dramatic sounding thing and he let his hand fell back onto your leg, higher this time. You held your breath as he skimmed his palm upupup until his fingertips disappeared under the hem of your skirt that he’d just pulled down for you. “Well, I wanted to personally invite you the poker game with me tomorrow night. You know the one, don’t you? It’s in the lounge, nine o’clock.”

You tried to steady your breathing, exhaling sharply from your nose as Steve’s fingers wandered, never going higher, going slow and soft enough that you could slap his hand away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “I’m working that shift,” you whispered. 

His eyes met yours, his grin blinding. “Good, you’ll be there then.”

“Working,” you reminded him, the last syllable of the word hitching in your mouth as his fingers passed over your leg once more. You felt the cool metal of his gold band on the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be there to work.”

Steve nodded, like he understood, like he wasn’t planning to monopolise every minute of your shift, wondering how long he could keep you by his side at the poker table before you got too worried and scrambled back to the bar. “Of course.” He pulled back a little, his nose too close to brushing yours as you couldn’t help but lean in too, head tilted up to his like you did it all the time. “And then after that,” he took his hand from your thigh and you tried not to cry about it, ‘cause he used the back of his hand to push your hair away from your face instead. “You could come back to mine?”

 Oh, fuck. You couldn’t help the smile that fluttered across your face, the giddy, shy laugh that followed. You were flustered and it showed, and as much as it made Steve smile back, it made him hard as a fucking rock. 

“Shit, uh, god, sorry,” you shook your head, as if to clear it. You felt fuzzy, hazy, under Steve’s spell as he kept smiling at you, clearly entertained by your flushed face, your dazed expression. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”

You didn’t say no, Steve noted. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to. In fact, from the way your eyes dropped to his lips over and over again, Steve was pretty sure he could seal this deal with you faster than his last visit meeting with that winery in Sorrento. 

That wasn’t to say you were easy, no. Just real fucking cute. He had a forty percent share in that vineyard and soon enough, he’d have you too. 

“What?” He played dumb, all syrupy sweet smiles and his voice all soft. He traced a circle around your knee. “You can’t see me out of work? Surely Fredrick isn’t that much of a tyrant, honey.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the one that made you feel like he was undressing you. You were too warm and his innocent fingertips on your knee were making you wanna drag his hand back up your thigh and underneath the hem of your skirt. “We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with club members.” Your words felt dull in your mouth, heavy and cotton like. 

Pointless. 

Steve pouted, lips pursing like he was trying to get you to kiss him. He tutted; his warm, wide palm curling around your thigh again. He squeezed gently and your mouth fell open, panting, an invitation. “What if I want to be involved with you, hm? What then, honey?”

You let your head fall back a little, lips wet and parted, eyes closing briefly, because Steve let his fingers slide up a little further, the tips of his middle and pointer finger brushing, just fucking barely, across the cotton of your underwear. You knew you were wet and you knew that he did too. How could he not? The damp fabric dragged across his digits and you saw the realisation in his eyes, that flash of heat, that curl of his lips that made his smile a smirk. 

“Remember what I told you?” He let his lips fall into ‘o’ at your small noise, an almost whine that sounded blissed out. God, he could have fun with you. “Do you? C’mon smart girl, what do I always get?”

You blinked at him, sucking in a breath as you fought the urge to grind down on his hand. Steve took his fingers away, the damp tips of them trailing back down the inside of your thigh as he waited for an answer. 

“You told me,” you took another breath, looking around quickly, burning at the sight of the boats on the lake, the blurry people across the water by the clubhouse, sitting outside for afternoon tea. “You told me you always get what you want.” 

That was the third time you met Steve Harrington. 

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

The night after, you’d spent too long getting ready for your shift. Too long in the shower, letting the steam fill the tiny room, honey and peach scented body wash running in rivers down your bare skin, your razor chasing after it as you did your best to make every crevice of your body silky smooth. 

You told yourself you weren’t going home with Steve Harrington. You told yourself you couldn’t, that you weren’t allowed to. 

But you took the time to layer mascara on your lashes, fixing any smudges before finishing your makeup with a layer of gloss on your lips, tinted a rosy pink and drawing more attention to them than you’d usually want. Black dress, clubhouse mandated stockings and heels, freshly polished. You left for work with your heart in the back of your throat. 

The Lake House was quieter than usual on poker nights, mostly because each guest had to buy their way in. All players had to place a ten thousand dollar deal in with the croupier, pockets emptied and jackets checked at the door. It made the smoking lounge feel bigger, men seated around a large poker table, the dealer in the middle, chips stacked high and cigar smoke lingering in the air. It smelled like tobacco, leather, expensive cologne and money, and god, the tips were good. 

There were familiar faces around the table, Billy, Jonathan, Mr Donaldson, a few other men from the club that liked to order expensive drinks and call you things like ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘sugar.’ The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow that was kept in the room with closed drapes, velvet lined chairs, and bar staff that were trained not to speak unless spoken to. Everything was hushed and whispered, men talking money over glasses of liquor, cigars in one hand, their dealt hand in the other. 

Then there was Steve, coming into the room a little late with another suit on, sharp and with a matching black shirt underneath, looking like he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t look at you as he took his seat, smirking at something Jonathan said and sliding a wad of stacked bills towards the dealer. He got his chips, he got his cards and the game began. 

It took a whole twenty minutes before he raised his hand, a two finger salute that let you know he wanted a drink. You beat the other waitress to it, slipping in front of the new start - Vickie something - and your heels clicked as you made your way over to Steve. You already had a drink on your tray, poured the minute you saw his hand go up, his eyes still on his hand. 

A Macallan, no ice. 

You placed the tumbler on the table in front of him, knees bending slightly to make sure it didn’t spill. Without warning, Steve’s hand snuck along the back of your thigh as you placed your tray under your arm, ready to walk away. Fingertips traced over the crease of your knee, ghosting over your stocking. You watched his gaze flicker to the drink he didn’t have to ask for, a slight curve to the corners of his lips as he smiled his approval. He leaned back, head tipped up to you so you had to bend down slightly to meet him. His hand was slipping up the back of your thigh the whole time, hidden from the rest of the room, from the other players, your boss in the corner. 

You bent at the waist, feeling your skirt rise up, feeling Steve’s hand do the same. His thumb ran along the crease below your ass, over the sliver of bare skin between your underwear and stockings. 

“Smart girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear, making you burn. His voice was low and a little rough from hardly talking, only communicating with nods to the croupier, dead face glances at his opponents. His chips were stacked high for his efforts. “You look pretty. How ‘bout you just stay beside me, yeah?”

You weren’t supposed to. But you did. You watched as your boss frowned, as Vickie looked surprised. Beside Steve, Jonathan snickered quietly and across the table, Billy narrowed his eyes. 

“Breakin’ some rules?” He mouthed to Steve. 

Steve ignored him.

The night came to an end close to one o’clock, once the bar was almost dry and Steve had most of the money. He accepted the passive remarks about his poker face, his ability to lie through his damn teeth, how he didn’t need all that money anyways. Then there were the handshakes and slaps on the back, good natured talks and invites to lunches, chats about business opportunities and stocks. And all the while you tidied, putting away empty bottles of thousand dollar whisky, pouring hundred dollar glasses of Malbec down the drain. Cigar ash on the table, white powder tipped dollar notes that everyone pretended to not notice. Heavy tips on the table top, damp from spilled drinks, pushed into your apron pocket while the men around you tried to get a peek up your skirt. 

And then Steve was leaning over the bar top and still ignoring Billy. He was watching you clean, eyes tracking the way your hands slid the cloth over the mahogany, and while your cheeks warmed at his attention, you let him. You were off the clock, your shift over. Bar closed. 

Home time. Maybe. 

“—you even listenin’ to me, Harrington?” Billy sounded annoyed, words twisting on his tongue, whisky making them come out a little slower than he wanted them to. 

“No.” Steve’s reply was short and bored sounding. 

“I said, you fucker, that I need a ride. S’posed to be on a goddamn flight at five o’clock and this fuckin’ tequila is makin’ me piss like a fuckin’ racehor—”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you as he took his wallet from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Using two fingers, he offered Billy a fifty, holding the bill in front of the other man’s face. “Take a cab.”

Billy looked offended at the suggestion. Disgusted, actually. “A cab? What do I look like to you, huh? Huh? A fuckin’ peasant?”

Steve just shrugged and slapped the bill on the counter anyway. “I’m having company,” he told him. Then he drained the rest of the one drink he’d ordered from you all night and met your gaze straight on. “You ready?”

Not, ‘would you like to join me?’ Not, ‘would you like to come back to mine?’ No. Just a simple question. ‘Are you ready to go?’

You nodded. Yes, you were ready. 

Billy laughed, a sharp and mean thing as he looked between you and Steve. Then his gaze turned salacious, drunk and lazy as he took in your short dress, your shiny lips. He nudged Steve and nodded towards you. “You not sharing this time, Harrington?” He tutted. “What a shame.”

You didn’t know what to say. If you’d been at a bar in town, standing on either side of it, you’d have listened to the twitch in your hand and lifted it, letting your palm meet Billy Hargrove’s right cheek, regardless of how much money was in his wallet. But Frederick was by the door talking to Mr Donaldson about summers in the Bahamas and you couldn’t do shit. 

So you turned your back, polished another wine glass and slid it back onto its shelf. 

“You know,” you heard Steve murmur. His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous sounding. “You keep letting your mouth run like that, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to get that five am flight. One call and there won’t be no fucking meeting in L.A, do you understand?”

You didn’t hear Billy’s reply. In fact, you weren’t sure there was one. Instead, Steve walked to the side of the bar and brushed some invisible lint off of his jacket as he waited for you to untie your apron. You hesitated, watching as Fredrick disappeared into his office and then, and only then, did you step out from behind the bar to join Steve, letting him place his hand on the small of your back and guide you out of the clubhouse. 

He made it too easy to break the biggest rule in the book. 

—————

Steve drove you to a townhouse on the edge of town, the opposite direction from your own home. He took you there in his BMW, a shiny maroon car that looked brand new, with leather seats and shiny detailing on the dash. He didn’t touch you in the car, he just opened the door for you to get in and get out, only offering a hand that you took as you stood on his driveway. 

His house was lit up by lights on either side of the huge garage, another by the double doors. Three floors, a water feature in the front yard, a security system at the entrance. Steve pressed some buttons before something buzzed and clicked, and he opened the door with no grand flourish, extending an arm for you to enter first. 

Everything was sleek and polished, not quite the bachelor pad you expected, but luxurious all the same. Wooden floors and a large fireplace in the living room, the leather and suede of the clubhouse swapped out for a huge sectional, covered in cushions and throws. There was art on the walls, scenes of Greek tragedies, half naked women with dreamy looks on their faces, full curves and thick thighs. A shiny kitchen that looked barely used, bottles of scotch and whisky and gin on a golden bar cart in the corner, a full wall of books surrounding the biggest television you’d seen. The house smelled like Steve, like his cologne, like new leather and oak. 

His footsteps echoed across the room as he strolled into the kitchen, an open plan thing that let you watch him from where you stood by the front door. Steve held up a bottle of wine. Red, a label you recognised from work, something that Frederick charged far too much money for. In your opinion. 

“Drink?” Steve asked. 

You nodded, stepping into the room a little more. There were a few lamps on, a warm flow from each that cast shadows over the floor, up the walls. The curtains were closed, heavy drapes that kept out the night, kept in the secrets. Like you. 

Steve appeared at your side, passing you a glass filled with a little ruby coloured wine. He grinned at your quiet thanks and offered his own for a toast. The glasses clinked and you took a sip, dark cherries and bitter chocolate swirling your senses, or at least, you were sure they would’ve if you hadn’t decided to gulp it down. Steve laughed softly and took your empty glass, setting it on the coffee table with his own. There was a stack of big books in the middle of it, something about American architecture and cars of the sixties, a candle that had never been lit and a cigar box with his initials engraved on the lid. 

“Here, sit,” Steve suggested and you sank into the sofa with him. The boy immediately lounged back into the cushions, arms stretched out over the back of it as he appraised you, head tilted to his side. “You don’t do this often, huh?”

You turned to him, puzzled, your hands sliding nervously up and down your bare legs. Your dress suddenly felt shorter than ever and with the way Steve was looking at you - hungry, predatory, bold - you weren’t sure if you wanted to tug the hem down to your knees or take the full thing off and drop it at his feet. 

“Do what?”

Steve gestured to himself, to the huge living room you felt a little bit lost in. He smirked, “go home with guys you barely know.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if it would seem rude if you reached out and stole the rest of his wine. If you’d feel braver and bolder if you were to gulp down more Malbec, if the price tag on the bottle would feel better on your tongue. “Not usually,” you said. You left out the part about how you’d be fired on the spot if your boss found out who you were going home with. 

Steve smiled, eyes shining at you like he thought you were cute. He patted the space on the couch beside him. It felt like a million miles away from you. “Come over here,” he said softly. You noticed how he didn’t ask, or suggest. It was an order, as gentle as it was. “I won’t bite.”

You scoffed a little, enjoying the irony of his words despite how he’d looked at you all night, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you, like he wanted to just eat you up. “You won’t?” You asked him, doubtful, even as you slid closer, your thigh brushing his. 

Steve dropped his hand to your knee, fingertips barely brushing your skin as she skimmed up and down, up and down. Each pass got him closer to the hem of your dress and you thought back to yesterday, in that stupid golf cart by the edge of the lake. How easy you made it for him, head thrown back, chest heaving, legs spread. You wanted that again, the feeling of his teasing fingers brushing up against the front of your underwear, lace this time, and already damp. 

Steve flashed a grin, all teeth, more bite than a smile and you resisted the urge to clamp your thighs together, trapping his hand between. You’d never been this hot for a guy, never been this easy to fold. You felt delicate with Steve, ready to crumple, ready to fold. 

“Not on the first date, no,” he assured you. 

Your brows rose into your hairline. “This is a date?”

Steve flattened his palm against your thigh and squeezed, leaning into you, nose brushing your cheek until you ripped your head for him and it skimmed the line of your jaw. Your breathing changed too quickly, stuttering to a hitch until it picked up, your eyes closing as you felt Steve’s lips brush against you in the briefest of touches. It wasn’t even a kiss. 

“What did you think it was?” Steve whispered, his words hot against your neck. You could smell his cologne, rich and peppery, could feel the slight stubble on his jaw scrape against your throat and you were desperate now, you needed him to kiss you. “What did you think I invited you here for, honey?”

His hand was higher now, fingers under the hem of your dress and you wanted to fall into him, you wanted to crawl into his lap and spread your legs, get properly dirty for him and pull your dress up around your hips and show him how you liked to be touched. Although, you had a feeling he wouldn’t need much help. “I, I don’t know—” you interrupted yourself with a gasp, Steve’s fingertips running along the lace edge of your underwear, teasing the crease of your thigh. “A one night stand, maybe.”

The boy laughed, a soft noise that was buried in the crook of your neck and he finally, finally, put his mouth on you. He kissed sweetly at the spot under your ear, grinned against it when you squirmed at the feel of him and then dragged his parted lips down the column of your neck. You felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny touch, teasing, warm and wet. 

“Just one night?” Steve tutted, letting his fingers slip underneath the edge  of your underwear. You were an elastic band now, pulled too right, fraught with unspent energy, ready to snap at the tension. “What if I wanted to keep you, hm?” His fingers ghosted over your folds, already slick and wet for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it. He pulled at you gently, spreading you for him, a single digit touching your needy clit as he kept you open. It was filthy. “You’re too pretty for one night, aren’t you?”

You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway. You were sure you already looked wrecked, head slack and leaning against Steve’s shoulder, his lips now dotting over your hairline. Legs open, underwear pushed up and to the side by Steve’s hand, his one finger sliding up and down the seam of your cunt. The rubber band was getting tighter. 

Steve hummed, a deep, warm noise that rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, honey,” he ordered and you did as were told, eyes heavy and haze unfocused as you turned your head to face him. He was so close, the only evidence he was as turned on as you were, were his blown out pupils, his heavy eyelids. “There she is, oh sweetheart, you’re gone, huh?” he cooed. 

You thought he might kiss you then, you thought he might kiss you, finally. But he nuzzled his nose against yours - a surprisingly sweet thing - before he murmured, “take your clothes off for me.”

It was embarrassing, the way your lips parted and your cheeks went hot. You wondered if Steve felt it, the warmth that exploded from your skin at his words, the way your empty cunt clenched around nothing at his words. He gave you clit one more passing nudge before he moved his hands from you completely and sank back into the couch. One arm over the back of it, legs crossed, the other hand brought to his mouth so he could rub the finger he’d dipped along your pussy against his bottom lip. 

It was obscene. 

He nodded to the space between the sofa and the coffee table and licked his lips. “C’mon, honey, strip.”

You should’ve pulled down your dress and thrown what was left of his wine in his face before you slammed the door on your way out. This man, this rich boy with his big house and shiny car, was ordering you around like you were still at the clubhouse. Like he could flash his members only card and get what he wanted. He hadn’t even kissed you. He didn’t know your last name, and shit, the only reason you knew his, was because him and his family were at the top of the client list at the place you worked. 

You could lose your job over this. Worse, you could get your heart broken. 

Steve must’ve sensed your hesitation because he reached back over to brush your hair from your eyes, where it had fallen in a mess when you hid your face in the dip of his shoulder as he tapped at your clit again and again and again. He pouted, tsked in a way that sounded sympathetic. “Oh honey, are you shy?” Condescension dripped from him, words liquid gold, sticky sweet and trapping you. He ran the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. It was as close to a kiss as you would get. “It’s okay, hm? Am I not playing nice? Am I being rude?”

You didn’t know what to say. You were being sucked in by this man’s charm, his caramel coated words, the way his brown eyes turned soft as he took your hand and led you to stand up in the middle of his living room. “I’m sorry, honey,” Steve whispered. “How awful of me. Lemme try again, huh?” He kissed your cheek, a soft, lingering thing before he left you standing, sitting back in front of you once more. 

Steve pushed back his hair and let his eyes appraise you before he rolled his shirt sleeves up and leant back into the cushions. A king on his throne. And the entertainment for tonight? 

You. 

“Take your clothes off for me, honey,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, lower, dirtier. And then he smiled at you and added: “please.”

With shaking hands and a held breath that made your chest burn, you pulled the material down your shoulders, reaching around your back to tug at the zip. And when it fell open, exposing your skin to the warm air, it was too easy to let the entire dress fall down over your hips. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, heels still on, legs covered in the sheer black stockings that the clubhouse made mandatory for poker nights. 

Steve’s lips made a little ‘o’ shape, an appreciative thing that made you pulse with need. You saw then how his dress trousers were tented at the front, an impressive bulge that twitched when you smoothed your hands over your upper thighs, a nervous reaction to being so exposed. 

“Oh,” Steve exhaled as he let his eyes rake over you. Soft skin between black lace, thigh highs pulled taught against your curves, tits pressed up in a bra you’d chosen as you thought him. You hoped he wouldn’t embarrass you, you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to do something like spin for him, show off for him. Because you would’ve. “Aren’t you a pretty fucking picture.”

He didn’t need to talk after that. He just lifted his chin towards your chest and you were pulling off your bra for him. You hated how the control of it all made you wetter, the space between your legs fucking throbbing as you waited for your next instruction. “Unless you want those ripped,” Steve was gazing at your underwear, eyes seeking out every dip and line he could make our in the wet lace. “I’d take them off too.” He didn’t let them hit the floor with the rest of your clothes, instead, extending one hand and crooking his fingers. 

A silent, ‘give them to me.’ 

And you did, watching as he slipped them into his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes on you, trailing them over your thighs that were slick with how wet he’d got you. He’d hardly touched you, you scolded yourself, not even a kiss. It was embarrassing, mortifying. It was the hottest thing that had happened to you. 

“Keep those on,” Steve murmured, talking about your heels and stockings. “And come sit back down for me, honey, yeah?” 

The fabric of the couch felt soft under your bare skin and you hesitated before you let yourself relax into it. There surely would be a wet spot underneath you, evidence of how turned on you were, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Get comfy, hm? Such an agreeable, little thing aren’t you?” Steve was sliding off the couch as he spoke, one palm pressed to his crotch as if to stave off some of his own need. He knelt in front of you, mouth parting in a sigh as he dropped to eye level with your cunt. “Think you can spread those legs for me? Let me see you, honey, there’s a girl—”

He cut himself off with a low groan as you brought your feet up, heels on the edge of the couch as you spread your knees, sticky thighs parting. He could see all of you, fuck, he could probably smell you. The low light made every part of you glisten, the heavy rise and fall of your chest cast in an amber glow.  

“Oh she’s real fuckin’ pretty, isn’t she?” Steve asked you, eyes tearing away from your pussy to look up at you. “Spread ‘em wider for me, baby, can you do that?” Another moan from the boy as you let your knees fall apart, almost touching the couch. Steve smoothed his hands up your tights, bracketing your cunt before he did the same as before and pulled your folds even further apart. “Look at that,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t. You let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes squeezed shut as you let your own hands fall onto your knees. You dug in your nails, crescent moon marks on your skin as your tried to keep a grip on reality. You were almost certain you’d come with just one touch. 

“Want my mouth?” Steve asked you and his voice was back to that sugar sweet drip, it was thick with an affection, like he was being so nice for taking care of you. You already wanted to thank him. “Want my tongue?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down your folds, keeping them spread apart, a dirty massage that made your clit pulse with each tiny movement. You nodded, letting out a uneven breath and Steve tutted. 

“You gotta look at me then, c’mon, Berkeley.” He nipped at your thigh, teeth biting at the skin and it made you cry out. “Look at me and tell me you want me to eat you out.”

Dirty, filthy, obscene, sinful. 

You were under no illusion that giving Steve an order made you the one in charge. He played you like a puppet, a boneless girl that wanted nothing more than to come all over this rich strangers sofa. You had a one track mind, no shame left, not when Steve was pressing his mouth over you folds, not licking into you, not yet. Just kissing. You wanted to cry. 

“Eat me out,” you begged, eyes glassy as you tried to lift your hips but Steve pulled away. He grinned at you, waiting. “Eat me out, please, Steve. Fuck, want your mouth yeah, please?”

“Where?” He asked, dragging it out. His voice was unholy. “Where do you want my mouth?” His thumbs were still moving, up and down and up and down. “Tell me.”

“My pussy, Jesus Christ,” you whined. You couldn’t ever remember being this pent up. “Please.”

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “she’s so polite.” And then he gave you no other warning, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe through your folds, the hot, wet contact of his tongue making you cry out. 

You were unraveling too fast. His thumbs had you taught for him, every part of you feeling his tongue, his lips. Steve groaned into you, a happy, pleased hum that told you whatever game this was, he’d won. He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit until you were curling over him and clutching his hair, doing your best to not suffocate him. But Steve moaned louder and moved his hands to your hips, sliding down until they cupped under your ass and he encouraged you to grind against his face. Tongue still out, kept flat for you to rock yourself on. It was pornographic.  

Then Steve was mumbling into you, voice a rasp. “Good girl, honey, that’s it. Keep going, make yourself come on my tongue, yeah?”

So you did, obedient as ever, letting out a gasping cry as your legs shook, cunt still clenching around nothing ‘cause Steve had broken you with just his mouth. It was dirty hot, the way he dragged himself from your sensitive slit, tongue running over your folds even as you whined, licking over the crease of your thighs to get everything you’d spilled for him. You watched as he appeared between your knees, hair tousled, lips and chin shining in the low light, his cheeks flushed. It was ironic, how he looked more boyish after he made you come, expensive black shirt creased from where your legs had pressed against him, his own gaze a little fucked out. 

Logic would suggest that perhaps you’d get a kiss then, something soft and sweet to soothe you down before he fucked you senseless, before you got to wrap your own fingers or lips around him. Steve looked big, if the solid press of him against his trousers was anything to go by. Thick and still rock hard, an easy eight inches trapped taught against his thigh, just as impressive as his wealth and status. Your mouth watered. 

He kissed the inside of your knee instead, his heavy lidded gaze on yours before he offered you his hands to help you sit up and then said, “I better get you home.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Home,” Steve repeated. He passed you back your bra, your dress. Not your underwear though, no. They were still in his pocket. “I gotta be at the airport in—” he checked his watch, the picture of blasé. “—an hour.”

You pulled on your dress, a little speechless. This boy had just made you come harder than you’d ever managed yourself and now he was busying himself with lighting a cigarette he pulled from the packet in his pocket. Your eyes wandered, he was still hard. 

“What about,” you licked your lips, suddenly shy. You nodded towards his crotch, the absolute monster he packed in his slacks. “What about you?”

Steve grinned, bending down to peck your cheek as you wriggled into your uniform, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’ll live,” he told you, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “We’ll call it an IOU, huh? But my plane leaves soon, honey. I’ll cash that favour when I’m back.”

“When?” You blurted out. It sounded like something a girlfriend would demand to know and you cringed, but Steve kept smirking. He helped you slip on your heels, cigarette hanging from his lips that definitely tasted like you. 

“Unsure,” he told you casually, “there’s things I need to wrap up in Monaco before I can go to Tuscany for a few weeks. There’s problems at the vineyard and there’s a new plot I want to look at in Alassio too.”

All you heard was money money money. So you nodded and gave him a small smile, legs still a little wobbly from his touch, his mouth, his tongue. And when Steve dropped you off at the door of your too small apartment, he took your chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw, just below your ear. 

The kiss goodnight to your lips didn’t come. You felt confused, a little stilted. But you got out the BMW and waved goodbye, wondering what you were supposed to do at three in the morning after Steve Harrington had tumbled your world upside down. 

PART TWO

[jedifarmerr]

When Javier Met... Series

Javier x F!Reader/OFC (no y/n, no physical description, established backstory)

Word count: 3.2k

Rating: T? (E/18+ blog & series)

Warnings: language, sad!Javi (a little), drinking, allusions to depression, & dialogue heavy. This is mostly fluff.

Series masterlist

Chapter 3: 1996

Javier thought about his life, now more than ever.

Maybe it was the recent move. From Laredo to Austin - yet again. Maybe it was the fact that he was middle-aged, starting a new job. One not associated with the DEA.

Javier dedicated his life to that job. He believed in it, the cause, his purpose. He never imagined a life outside of it, like Steve had said he was a lifer. The day he turned in his resignation, a part of him wilted. The plans he had for the future, forever changed in that single moment.

When he moved back to Laredo, Javier hoped he could make a life. That somehow this time it would work, it would be enough. He threw himself into ranch work; fixing fences and cleaning horseshoes. In a way, the tangible aspect of the work felt therapeutic. The ability to see the progress, to feel the finished product on his fingertips. But for the first time in Javier’s life, his soul wasn’t in his job.

An emptiness settled deep into his chest - a void of unfulfillment. His mind left unoccupied for the first time in years. No clues to ruminate on. No next move to plan.

Thoughts of his past took up occupancy. Nightmares - memories of Colombia - played across the walls. Wreaking havoc on the sanctuary he once found in his childhood room. He would wait, the covers tucked close to his chest until the periwinkle of dawn seeped in from the worn navy curtains to fill the dark abyss. It was like he was a little boy again, waking from a bad dream. But unlike then, the monsters were real.

After a particularly restless night, Javier paced around his room in the dim lamp light. The idea came as he stared at his degrees, nailed and framed to the wall. He could return to school, finish up his masters.

It was simply tape over a leaky pipe, for a while it held. Until the cracks started to show when he approached the final semester in the program. That same emptiness started to rise once again, like the Texas heat, as he faced an uncertain future.

Two weeks before he was set to graduate, a solution came when a certain professor that had taken quite a liking to Javier called him into their office. A position had recently become vacant in the Criminal Justice department at St. Edward's University in Austin. While they originally called to hire them, they offered an alternative - a soon to be graduate with experience that outweighed a doctorate.

Javier accepted a new position, a few months shy of two years since he walked out of the DEA headquartered in D.C..

When Javier moved into his new place, third floor apartment with one-bedroom, located a mile from campus, it was early summer. The place was small, less than 600 square feet, but recently renovated in mid 90’s fashion. It came partially finished, an outdated TV that sat on an oak console table. A brown suede couch plopped right in the center of the coarse beige carpet. Two wicker bar stools. And a gold rod iron bed that sat framed between two picture windows. As the relator put it, It gives you the option to really personalize the space.

The place almost looked exactly the same since the day he moved in. The only personal touches he put were the family afghan throw he draped over the back of the couch and a wooden picture frame - with a photo of him and Chcuo - in the corner of the solid surface bar top.

Javier parked his jeep underneath the buzzing orange street light. He tugged at the knot on his tie as he made his way up the iron steps. He had just gotten back from his first faculty meeting. A pizza get together held in the shared space on their department floor. Everyone had been encouraged to bring their families or significant others. He was the only one that showed up alone.

He turned the key to the quiet apartment, he flicked on the string of clunky track lights that cluttered the popcorn ceiling. Shrugging off his navy blue suit jacket, he folded it in half and laid it across the empty counter top. He grabbed an ornate rocks glass from the orange hued cabinets then poured himself a drink from the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

First message: Hey Javí, it’s Joe. I’m sorry but we gotta cancel tomorrow’s dinner plans. Our babysitter just called us and is sick. I’ll call you if we find someone, but we have already called the two back ups, and they couldn’t. Sorry man, we were both excited to see you. It’s been too long, but hey it’s a good thing you moved back. Call me when you get the chance.

End of First Message. Second Message

Hey, son. Just calling to see how the faculty meeting went and how things were going. Call me back.

End of-

Javier cut the robot voice off.

He stared around at the bare eggshell walls. Nothing but the sounds of cars passing through the night filling his ears.

It was as lonely as Javier felt.

He wondered if he would ever know what it was like to not feel that way.

Marie was reading the blurb on the back cover, her face scrunched as she put it back into the stack, “So, how are you holding up?”

“Marie. I told you already, I’m fine, honestly,” your fingers skimmed along the smooth protective covers.

“How is that possible? The two of you were a couple for what? 3 years?”

“Yeah, but Ken and I have been growing apart for a long time. I mean,” your fingers tapped on the book as you sighed, “We wanted different things. And I deserve better than a man like him.”

“I agree, 100%. You know, I never really liked him,” Marie stated like she hadn’t told you this information last week after you told her about the breakup.

The two of you continued to circle the bestseller table in the middle of the store, “Well,” she said after a reasonable amount of time in silence, signaling the conversation dead, “If we are done talking about Ken, I have something I want to talk about.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Well...Mike called me last night…” her eyes darted between you and the book she was holding.

“Please don’t tell me you let him come over?”

“Well…” a slouched smile spread across her face.

“Marie, why?” Your hand smacked down on the copy of Where The Heart Is. You grimaced at the unintentional force and shook the sting away. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“Just hear me out. Okay? I was just going to talk to him, honest. But then, you know. We were sitting on my couch. His fingers were trailing along my hand, then up my arm, then he kissed my neck. And you know how much I love that.”

“So you slept with him?”

“Sorta.” She relented at your suspicious expression. “Fine. We slept together. But I think it might be different this time,” you scoffed, “He actually stayed for thirty minutes afterwards. Usually he would just get up and leave. No words. Nothing. This is a different side of him.”

“Oh, Marie,” you rubbed between your eyebrows. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” she said with her hands up. The both of you continued your search.

“Psst,” Marie leaned across the circular wood table, “Psst.

“What are you doing?”

“Someone’s staring at you over in Politics.”

“Really?” She gave you a quick nod, her eyes remained locked behind your shoulder. In a slow but casual fashion, you looked behind your shoulder. Only to find, none other than Javier Peña, a thick book held in one hand, open to a page he wasn’t even looking at until the two of you made eye contact.

“I know him,” you held up Intensity by Dean Kootz, “Have you read this?”

She held an open book up to her face, covering everything below the bridge of her nose as she looked between the two of you, “Who is he?”

“One of Joe’s friends,” you tried to think of a summary of your past two meetings, but couldn’t conjure up anything quick. “It’s a whole story. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“He’s cute,” she wiggled her eyebrows.

You took a second look, which made his eyes shoot down again. “Yeah, he is.”

“You should go for him.”

“He doesn’t date. Oh, hey. He might just be your type.”

She stuck her tongue out at you, “You could just sleep with him?” You let out a sharp, single laugh. “How do you know he doesn’t? Did Joe tell you?”

“No. He did.”

“And when was that?”

“Three years ago,” you started off towards the fiction section, located on the back wall.

“People can change,” Marie said eagerly in your ear as she remained right on your heels.

“Not him. Besides, he’s I don’t know. Infuriating.”

She huffed as she leaned against the bookshelf. Twirling a brown strand of hair around her finger.

“Stop staring,” you hissed.

“I’m not. Oh shit.”

“What?”

She straightened up, “I think he’s coming over here,” she smoothed out her skirt and fluffed her hair. “How do I look?”

“Doubt it,” you peeled two books apart to grab at the one in the middle, “He never remembers me.”

Your ears perked when he said your name, his deep husky voice breaking through the light jazz of the speakers. “Joe’s sister, right?” You swore you heard a small moan escape from Marie when he spoke.

“Javier Peña. You remembered,” you pressed the book to your chest.

“I thought it was you,” he said with one of his twitchy smiles. Marie cleared her throat, her brows raised before she beamed at him again.

“Sorry, Marie. Javier. Javier. Marie.”

“Nice to meet you.” She giggled as he shook her limp hand.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” she bit at her lower lip. You blinked rapidly at her display. Head taking a sharp tilt. But she was unfazed. “How do you two know each other?”

Javier’s lips parted, but Marie bursted out “Shit!” She looked between the time on the clock and the two of you. “Is it noon already?” Javier checked his watch and nodded. “Fuck. I gotta go. I’m late. I told you we shouldn’t have gone into that shoe store. I’ll see you later.” She ran off towards the stairs, then stopped before the first step. “It was nice to meet you,” Javier waved goodbye.

The two of you just stood there, swaying on the balls of your feet as you contemplated apologizing to him. “How’ve you been?” He rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip, then pointed his hand at you.

“Good.”

“Good.”

“What about you?”

“Good,” he looked down at his feet for a split second.

“Joe said you moved back,” when you finally came up with something to say, your arm flailed out, then slapped back against the book.

“Yeah. Couple weeks ago,” he shoved his hands in the pockets of his tight jeans. You realized that Javier’s outfit didn’t vary much each time you saw him. He was wearing a muted yellow, safari button up. With yellow ombre aviators clipped where the top button remained undone.

“How are you liking the new job?”

“Just started, but so far it’s good.” The two of you nodded in sync. “How’s Ken?”

“Ohhh. Umm…We actually just broke up.” You took in a sharp inhale as your head bobbed up and down.

“Shit,” he clenched his teeth, “I didn’t-”

“No, no,” you tried to wave off the worry that was beginning to settle in between his brows, “It’s okay. Honestly. I’m fine.” You smiled up at him. The reassuring action made his eyes widen, taking on a puppy dog look.

You turned to put the book back where it belonged before you forgot, “You wanna grab a coffee?” He

rushed out. Sliding into your periphery, allowing you to see the way his jaw twitched as he waited for an answer.

“Oh… ummm…” you looked down at your gold watch.

“We don’t-”

“No, you know what? Why not?”

“-He said that he never wanted to get married. When I asked why, he said that everyone he knew that did seemed unhappy. They never had sex anymore. Blah Blah Blah. Then I asked him how long he had known. He said a year. And look, I get that not everyone wants to, but he knew for a whole year and never told me. That’s what really irked me. Anyway, he asked if I would just think about it, and I agreed. So a week later, I came home from work. I told him, if we don’t get married, then I want a pet. A fish, cat, dog, whatever.” You sighed - taking a deep breath, you shrugged, “He said no. It was then that I realized he never compromised. It was always me. I was willing to give up something I had dreamed of since I was a little girl, for a guy that wasn’t even willing to give me a fish. So, that’s it.” You took your first drink of lukewarm coffee. “Fuck. Sorry, I just rambled on and on-”

“No, don’t apologize. If it means anything, I think you made the right choice. What kind of man doesn’t want a dog?” He smirked as he leaned back in the booth.

“Right,” you nodded enthusiastically, “But he did offer me the apartment. I didn’t take it, of course. It was just too weird.”

“So, where are you living?”

“My parents. I know. I know. Someone my age, living with their parents.”

“I was living with my pops, until I moved back here,” he looked down at his empty cup.

“You know,” you snorted, “That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Glad I could help. You looking for a place?”

“Yeah, I have been since it happened. But you know how picky I am with food? Well, it’s worse when I have to sign a year lease, and pay 800 dollars or more a month.”

He imagined the patience that it must take to be your realtor. He chuckled - low and deep, “It took me two days to find a place. Third one I viewed.”

You sighed, “Well, maybe I need the number of your realtor.”

“I don’t think that’ll make a difference."

There was a tint of sherbet that speckled the blue sky as Javier and you walked side by side in the park. “You know, I didn’t like you that much when we first met,” you smiled at the way his mouth parted in fake shock.

“I didn’t like you either.”

“Don’t lie, you did too,” you playfully slapped his arm. He rubbed his tricep, acting like it hurt. “You just knew that I didn’t like you.”

“So, I didn’t like you cause you didn’t like me?”

“Yeah, you couldn’t like me. That would be embarrassing.”

He shook his head, “You keep telling yourself that.”

“Did you like me the second time we met?”

“You grew on me,” he smiled when he saw your chin jut, head high with pride, “You weren’t as uptight. You were - are… softer.”

“You know,” you tapped a finger to your smushed lips, then held it up “I hate that I don’t know if that is a compliment or an insult.”

“Maybe it’s both,” he teased, “What about me?”

“Well, since you admitted it, I guess you grew on me too. You didn’t eye fuck every girl that passed in the aisle. Or maybe you just found out how to hide it better.” He shrugged with a coy grin. You shook your head, “You were still a little too cocky, but I don’t know. You seemed different.”

The pace slowed by just a beat as the two of you looked at each other, gazing at one another with a sense of unspoken understanding.

The two of you continued to casually walk around the pond. Losing track of time as you shared stories about the past three years. His time in Laredo. The ranch work - which you had a hard time believing. You talked to him about your job at the same place. Ken. Joe and Ruby.

The sky was officially golden with hints of salmon when the two of you arrived back at the bookstore parking lot. A white piece of paper flapping around both of your windshields. “Fuck,” he joked as he clipped it away. “Five dollars, guess I can pay that.”

You laughed, the smile tainting your voice, “Well, Javier, I had a good time, but I should go. My parents are probably wondering where I am.” You started to walk towards your car. “Fuck, I sound like a teenager.”

“Would you like to go to dinner sometime? Lunch?”

You stopped at the trunk of his jeep. Turning around with your arms crossed, “Are we becoming friends now?”

He shrugged as he leaned back against the driver side door, “We could. If you want.”

“Well, you see there’s just one teeny tiny problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I thought men and women couldn’t be friends.”

“You still holding me to that?”

“Possibly,” you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“Well, do you wannna sleep with me?”

A sharp exhale propped your mouth wide open, “No,” you laughed as you shook your head. He tilted his head, “No,” you said with more assurance.

“Likewise. Crisis averted,” he shrugged.

You took a step towards him. Putting your hand in the middle of the two of you, “Then, I guess we can be friends.”

He pried himself from his relaxed posture. Putting his hands on his hips. His eyes rolled up to your face, down to your hand, and back up to your face. We are shaking on it? Really?”

“Mmmhm,” you wiggled your hand, “Unless, you don’t wanna,” you reached just a centimeter closer.

“Okay, fine.” His warm - slightly sweaty - large hand engulfed yours, giving you one firm shake. As you pulled away, his thumb lingered along the back of your hand.

You dug into your purse and grabbed out a pen and a wrinkly receipt from a Chinese takeout place two blocks away. “Call me,” you slapped your number into his palm before walking off.

When Javier looked down at the digits a cheesy grin spread on his face. He tucked it into his back pocket and watched you drive away.

Even though he was now alone, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel that way.

taglist: @athalien @lowlights @peoniarose @beskarangel @phandoz @seasonschange-butpeopledont @littlemisspascal @0celesteisthebest0 @hnt-escape @nymphwriting

A/N: I know others have put Javier as a professor. I thought about his profession a lot, and just couldn't see him going back to the DEA, but didn't really seem him anywhere else. So, I think it made sense.

[sweeterthanthis]

Kinktober Drabbles Day 4: Creampie - Ransom Drysdale

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, semi-public sex, rough sex, creampie, slight humiliation.

Word Count: 1.2k

You’d been to object of his wretched affections immediately, his attention fixed on you since the moment you’d walked through the door.

It was a fancy place, the exquisite décor and soft tinkling of the piano setting the scene for a romantic date perfectly. It had the potential to be the perfect evening, if your date had actually had the decency to show up.

You shifted on your suede bar stool, adjusting the hemline of your LBD and checking your painted lips in your compact mirror.

It had taken him less than five minutes to saunter over to you, taking a seat next to you at the bar and ordering a bottle of the finest champagne the establishment had to offer. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t gorgeous; slicked back chestnut hair, dazzling blue eyes and a panty-dropping smile.

He had an air of arrogance about him that unsettled you. You could tell he was used to getting what he wanted – the kind of guy who wouldn’t give up without a fight. 

“Waiting for someone?” He asked you, presumptuously pouring two glasses of champagne and sliding one over to you. 

You slid it right back, shooting him a forced, but grateful smile.

“No thanks, I don’t accept drinks from strange men.” You said nonchalantly, eyes forward.

You watched as his jaw clenched, twitching as he narrowed his eyes. He studied you, watching as you beckoned the bartender over and ordered a Whiskey Sour.

“I would have thought you’d want some company given the fact that you’ve clearly been unceremoniously stood up.” He goaded, picking up his champagne flute and sipping from it, his eyes still trained on you. “Embarrassing…”

Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you snatched the champagne flute back, throwing it down in one gulp and setting it back down on the bar top with a clink.

“If you’re going to drink my champagne, you can at least tell me your name.” He urged, pouring you another. You didn’t give him the satisfaction, instead emptying the second glass just as swiftly as the first. “Suit yourself, I’m Ransom by the way. Remember that; you’ll be screaming it later.”

“Never in your wildest dreams, asshole.”

That’s what you’d told yourself. 

He wasn’t your type, he was a spoiled brat, incapable of taking no for an answer.

Yet now as you bent over the marble sink, dress hitched up around your waist and panties pushed to the side, and his cock stuffed to the brim in your pussy; none of that mattered.

Only the feeling of his long, thick cock splitting you open mattered. 

Planting your palms against the mirror in front of you, face pressed against cold marble, he rutted into you like a rabid animal. 

The composure and cockiness that he possessed when he first introduced himself was ever present. His large hands gripped your ass, spreading you open and taking in the sight of your sodden pussy sucking him in.

“Fuck, look at that.” He whispered, teeth gritted together, and brow furrowed. “Won’t tell me your name, but you’ll take this dick like a pro huh?”

You cried out, the tip of his cock reaching pleasure points you didn’t even know existed. 

You felt shame wash over you as you stared down your fucked out reflection in the mirror, quickly replaced by a feeling of empowerment stronger than you’d ever felt. His hands fisted in your hair, tugging your head back so you could get a better look at yourself. 

Your lipstick smudged, one breast hanging free from the confines of your dress and cheeks flushed; the sight of it made your pussy clench with need around his cock.

“Shit, you are so fucking tight. Asshole doesn’t know what he’s missing, huh?” He teased, bending his knees slightly and hitting your g-spot with ease.

“Fuck!” You cried, your cheek slamming into the mirror when his palm collided with your ass, your flesh rippling under the force of the blow. “Harder, please fuck me harder.”

His laughter echoed off the restroom walls, accompanied by the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh as he fucked into you, your hips knocking against the counter beneath you. 

You were certain it’d bruise in the morning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give a fuck.

“Look at you, begging like a desperate whore – and you do it so fucking well.”

He fucked you with contempt, his lips peeled back over his teeth, yanking your body up forcefully – your back pressed firmly against his broad chest. His lips ghosted your ear, filthy grunts rippling through your senses as you reached behind to grab his ass, urging him on by scraping your fingernails across his smooth skin.

“Where do you think I should cum, hmm?” His hand encased your throat, index finger tugging on your bottom lip and delving into your mouth. You couldn’t help but suckle on it, the heat of the moment transforming you into someone you hardly recognised. “Here?”

The sound of your desperate pussy clenching around his slick, throbbing cock made you cringe. You hated how much you were loving it. He was everything you despised, and that only served to turn you on even more.

Kneading your exposed breast, he squeezed, rolling your nipple between his fingertips.

“Here? Such pretty tits…”

Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes as his thrusts became less frequent, pulling you back from the edge of euphoria. His fingers ghosted the backs of your thighs, pulling his cock free of your centre and pressing two fingers into you, curling them upwards against the spongey flesh deep within.

“Oh, I think I know where I’m cumming baby.” He sang, enjoying every second of teasing you to the point of madness. “ I know you remember my name, so fucking scream it.”

His cock was balls deeps inside you once again within moments, forcing an unrelenting pace upon you that made your eyes roll back in your head, forehead falling against the mirror in front of you with a gentle thud.

Ransom lifted your knee up onto the sink, the new angle causing your knees to quake and your pussy to tremble. You could feel the coil in your belly threatening to snap at any moment, teasing you with a sweet release that you could almost taste. 

Pathetic muffled cries dripped from your lips, your breath punched out of your lungs each time he seated himself roughly within you. 

“I can’t hear you. Let them know who’s fucking you, who’s going to fill this cunt up with cum.”

Just when you thought he couldn’t possibly drive into you any harder, he did; the blunt force of his assault clouding your vision, beautiful patterns billowing like smoke behind your eyelids.

“Fuck, oh fuck, I’m coming…” You sobbed, unsure if it was a statement or a question.

“Scream. My. Fucking. Name.”

Each word accompanied by a violent plunder, you caved. Your pussy fluttered around him as a white heat flooded your body, ecstasy washing over your nervous system and sending you soaring.

“Oh god, Ransom! Fuck!” Your whole body shook, your feet barely touching the floor as he fucked into you a final time, thick ropes of his cum coating your walls.

His fingers replaced his cock, the sight of your quaking cunt oozing his seed obscenely making his lips twitch in amusement. Ransom gathered every stray drop, forcing it back inside of you and pulling your panties back in place.

He didn’t wait for you to straighten yourself out, simply yanked your dress back down over the curve of your ass and tucked his softening cock back into his pants before exiting the restroom swiftly.

He was there though, propped up at the end of the bar with a glass of champagne in hand when you exited the restroom and spied the familiar gentleman with a dozen red roses sitting a few seats farther down.

He noticed when your eyes widened in fright, thighs still aching from the glorious fucking you’d just received.

And he laughed, fucking laughed, when he put two and two together to make four.

“Looks like he was just running a little late, huh baby? Fuck, I hope he didn’t hear us...” He chuckled darkly, patting your ass for good measure. “Let’s hope he doesn’t notice my cum dribbling down your thighs at dinner.”

[voltagesmutter]

Leonardo x MC - Role-play.

Pairing: Leonardo x MC (F).

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Prompt:  Deep-throating || Role-play || Object Insertion

Warning: Roleplay, Outdoor sex, stranger’s scenario, dirty talk.

One of my finals for @alloveroliver​​ beautifully, wonderful, kinky, kinktober.

Thank you to @ikevamp-shrine​​ and @theinariakuma​​​ for beta-ing and all your help! 💛

The low, dim light of the candles reflected off the freshly polished bar. The scent of alcohol and the warming buzz of friendly chatter filled the spacious area. A young woman perched on the stool, day-dreaming as she nursed the glass of wine slowly letting the harsh bitter of cherry run down her throat. And whilst she sat alone, she knew company would be arriving soon. 

“Monsieur,” she beckoned forth the young man behind the bar, gesturing to the highly-priced bottle of scotch, one that had almost doubled in value due to the rarity of it. She made a two-finger signal towards him as he placed a glass in front of her. “Oh no, not for me,” she smiled softly towards him, “for him”. The tip of her index finger pointed towards a stranger who had entered the bar not long after herself; his dark grey hair shifting around his face as the ending strands, like kissed tips of wispy silver, shimmered under the golden light.

A playful smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she turned her head slightly to see the shocked expression on the man’s face, beating him to his game.  The gold of his eyes glinted as he raised his head to meet her face, lowering his head in a nod as he picked up the glass with his fingerless-gloved hand. Matching his gesture, she brought her glass to her lips before sipping it, her eyes sensually fluttering shut knowing he was still watching her. Just like he had been since the minute he arrived. 

“Ciao Bello,” a light-hearted voice that made her heart race and her pussy throb at the same time spoke beside her. The man she’d brought the drink for now taking the empty seat to her right. 

“Bonjour Monsieur,” she smirked leaning back in her chair, finishing the last of her glass and holding out her hand to signal for another. 

“Scusa but let me- as means as a thank you.” Gracefully pulling out a few coins in exchange for a new glass he watched the barman turn away, leaving the pair alone. 

“It is such a rare sight to see such beauty sat alone,” he paused, taking a swig from his glass before putting it down, “little lambs shouldn’t be out alone. A big bad wolf might just come and… eat them.” His eyes danced as the words came out of his mouth. 

She threw him a light laugh in amusement, “maybe this lamb just wanted to be caught by a big, bad wolf,” she leaned in to close the distance between them, her whispers brushing past his ear, “maybe this little lamb isn’t as innocent as you think.”

He let out a hum of satisfaction at her words, admiring her form as she sat back once again this time crossing her left leg over her right; his eyes falling to the way her skirt rose from her knee a few inches, giving him a teasing peek of her thighs beneath. 

She had dressed more provocative than usual in attempts to catch his eye- and it had worked perfectly: a white long-sleeved blouse tucked in the suede beige skirt, a matching coloured corset laced on top of her shirt. The choice of clothing had deliciously accentuated her figure in a fashionable manner for the time. A delicate balance of elegance and fashion whilst not drawing too much attention to herself, after all she was only here for one person.

The bar she was currently residing in was new, opening only a few days ago in the next town over. Her lover and her decided to set a challenge in their relationship, to see if they could go a night without being noticed as lovers. Role-playing and enticing as strangers for the evening. So far it was going well. 

“An innocent lamb? Maybe not.” 

His lips curved into his trademark smirk, eyes darting up and down across her body before focusing back on her face, “a fox maybe? Cunning and deceptive… so soft and playful, yet so…,” he lifted a hand to slowly place it on her knee, leaning into her, “dangerous.”

“Or maybe something more vicious. A vixen perhaps?” Letting out a low click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth he continued, “no you are far more enticing, a temptress.” 

“Hmm a temptress I may be but,” she pressed the toes of her left heeled shoe against his lower calf, slowly dragging it up the side of his leg before stopping and sliding it back down, “it depends purely on who captures my eye.”

“And I pray-tell that someone has caught your eye tonight?” He murmured, unable to stop his eyebrows from rising as he brought his glass to his mouth.

“Mmhm maybe, there is definitely someone mysterious, tall, and handsome who’s in my sights,” her voice held steady as his palm on her leg slowly pushed further until it hovered just beneath where the material of her skirt lay.

“I can only hope that my compagna is prepared. You seem like a wild one,” he grins. She laughs with a breathless chuckle, sharing a drink at the build up of pure sexual tension. He watched the dip of her throat as she swallowed the moorish red liquid, the pink of her tongue darting out to wipe away any remnants of it upon her lips before popping the pads together with a wet noise.

Slender fingers peered inside the burnt-brown of his coat to pull out a cartoon, pulling out a long cigarillo. The familiar scent of orange mixed in their scenes. Placing the narrow smoke between the white of his teeth revealing a glimpse of the hidden fangs that rarely came out, he lowered his face to the candle nearby for the warmth of the flame, inhaling to pull the smoke through before exhaling. A thin cloud wavered between the two of him releasing a familiar scent. What he never anticipated was for her to wrap her fingers around the tobacco clad smoke and pull it to her lips, dragging deeply before exhaling out. 

 She had tried one of the cigarillos before, but it only led to her choking and coughing on the spot as the smoke burned her lungs. This time she was smooth, one fluid movement that could fool anyone she smoked them daily- a process of learning with Arthur after she came to him on tips of seduction.

“I like the taste,” she hummed softly, taking another draw and holding it between her middle and forefinger on her right hand. In a smooth movement she pinched it with her thumb, knocking the growing ash off into a small ashtray on the bar with the tip of her forefinger. Exhaling as she returned it to its rightful owner, a look of awe upon his face. Leaning in as she placed the item between his teeth, like it originally had been, she whispered lowly so only he would hear, “but I like the feel of it in my mouth even better.”  He groaned raspily, following the unintentional sound of approval with her phrasing and actions with a deep chuckle.  Her persona tonight was beyond different to her normal one. It was  mature, more seductive. He could see the evidently clear want in her eyes, as she could with his. 

This game they were playing proved to be exciting and arousing on both of their parts. Her taking more charge; acting as he had called her earlier, ‘a vixen’- a side to her that she very rarely let out. The mixture of their plan and the warming buzz of the alcohol being the confidence booster she needed to push herself.

“You know, just because you buy me a drink doesn’t mean you’ll get me into bed,” she teased with a wink, enjoying seeing a tint of pink grace his cheeks. To think, the jack of all trades’ almost flustered by her sudden boldness of words… how invigorating.

“Oh I have no intention of taking you to bed.” The hand on her leg pushed just beneath the material of her skirt to give her thigh a squeeze; the other brushing a strand piece of hair behind her ear as he leaned into the shell of it, “no I don’t think I could make it that far. I have every desire and intention to take you against the wall outside.” 

 -

“Mmm!” 

Her moans were captured by the leather of his left palm while his right hand trailed up the back of her thigh; his fingers pressing over the damp cloth of underwear with a low groan humming against her neck. 

“You're already so wet,” his grumbles tickled against her neck, his lips latching onto the sensitive skin. Wet kisses sucked over and over until her breathing turned into rapid, short breaths against his hand. Her teeth playfully nipped at the skin of his fingers, shaking her mouth to free it from his gentle hold.

“Of course I am, didn’t you notice the rain when you arrived?” Wishing she was facing him to see the way he responded to her brattiness- a first for her, but the feeling of his smile against her neck was enough of a reaction. 

“Cheeky girl,” he chuckled, making her gasp as he nipped at her neck, a blossoming mark forming just above the collar of her shirt. Her hands fell to rest flat on the brick wall in front of her, his body pressing tightly up against hers as his coat hung off his broad shoulders enough to protect their bodies from view. Being hidden from sight in the faint glow of the street light behind the bar and protected by a cloak of night around them, his free hand hastily undoing the corset on top of her shirt.  Pulling the thin cotton from her skirt allowing him access to her torso, cladded-leather tugged at the sheer material of her bra until her breasts spilled free, resting heavily in his palm as he cupped one of them, letting her nipple roll and be pinched by his forefinger and thumb.

Her moans filled the night air as he pushed her underwear to the side letting his long digits glide up the wet of her slit as she parted her legs wider- a silent invitation for him to delve in further. His lips once more found her neck, this time leaving a trail of heated kisses along the base and working up to reach her jaw as two fingers coaxed her arousal, pushing into her. 

“Oh god.” Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her fingers twitching against the brick wall in search of something to grasp onto as he thrusted his digits in and out of her tight folds. 

“I’ve never felt you so wet,” he mumbled into the shell of her ear before sucking on her lower lobe with a dirty grin, “don’t pray to your fantasy figures, there is only me.” 

Her breast bounced softly in his hand with each thrust of his fingers inside her. Her hips pushed down to grind against his movements in a desperate seek for more as she mewled in his hold. The sound of her arousal was clear in the air even beneath the layer of her skirt as he added a third finger, curling them in a manner that left her jaw dropping and knees almost buckling.

“I want you to come on my fingers,” his voice growled riddled with lust, a more baritone octave to it than his normal Italian twist. 

 “I-I want, oh fuck, to come on your cock.” 

The pit of her stomach dropped, a white heat beginning to rise in its place as his fingers curled against the rough patch inside her, making stars dance across her vision.

“Scusa!” He groaned against her as her walls clenched down, “who taught you to speak like this?” 

“You,” she moaned, earning herself a smirk to know how much her words and actions were affecting him as his fingers pulled from out of her to circle her clit. Pushing her hips back to feel the strong strain of his erection still hidden beneath the layer of his leather trousers, her breath hitched as his hand pulled from her chest to bunch up her skirt, exposing her wet folds as he tugged her underwear to the floor.

“Cheeky little thing you are.” Giving her ass a little tap and watching it ripple, he hastily unbuckled his trousers, freeing his red, pulsing cock leaking with need against the plump of her behind. 

“Please, I-,” she whispered, pushing herself out in offering, gasping to feel the wet of his head already pushing against her. 

Curses both left their lips as he pushed himself into her, holding the curve of her waist as he thrusted shallowly until her cunt swallowed him whole, pulling him into the depth of her tight folds. 

“Oh fuck, yes!” She moaned, her eyes tightly shutting as he took no hesitation to begin thrusting into her. 

Bending her slightly so his chest was fully pressed against her back, his tongue lapped circles over the pulse of her neck. The need to bite was heavy, but he was always able to withstand. He pulled her back with every thrust, burying himself to the hilt each time in rapid movements until the lewd noise of slapping skin took over the silence.

Her back arched off of him, one hand reaching behind her to seek purchase in his hair, tilting her head to finally meet his eyes. Both of them saw nothing but lust, panting against each other's lips as they finally kissed for the first time that evening.

“Yes! Yes, yes… there, oh, yes!” Moaned between her parted lips and into his mouth. The hold on her waist shifted her forward slightly and onto her toes as he continued to pound into her, the change of angle hitting perfectly inside her; her walls already clenching down each time he pulled back in an attempt to keep him buried inside her, she continued, “I-I’m close!”

“Say my name… ngh, when you come,” groaned through harsh breaths as his fang glided against the weak spot just beneath her ear causing a shiver of electricity to crackle down her spine. The hand bunching her skirt dropped as he held it up with the hand on her waist, bringing his free hand under the waistline of her skirt to rub tight circles over her swollen clit. 

“Monsieur!” Unable to hold back the high pitched whimper in her voice, she tried her best to keep up the play at hand. 

A growl came from behind her, “Properly, my naughty cara mia.” 

The minute he called her ‘cara mia’ they both knew their little game was over.

Giving a particular rough thrust- one that paired with the movement over her clit and the sucking nips to her neck was enough to push her over the edge.  

 Walls clamped down as tiny pockets of white burst repeatedly over her vision, ‘Leonardo’ falling over and over in voice-raising cries of pleasure until her jaw slacked open into an  ‘o’. Heat surged  from her head, spreading through her chest and pulsing from her core as she came, body curling as her fingers scratched at the wall.

“Good girl, cara mia,” he praised removing his hand from her clit once he was sure he’d prolonged her release enough, soon gripping her waist with both hands as he sought his own release. A new form of heat flooding into her as he groaned against her shoulder, her name on his lips as his hips stuttered against her, emptying himself into his lover. 

 -

“You look cold dolcezza mia,” Leo said, taking off his coat and pulling the young woman into his lap, wrapping his coat around her. Her damp underwear still in his pocket- a safekeeping of their passionate night.  He held her close as she rested her head upon his shoulder, the carriage ride home allowing them both a good rest before setting foot in the mansion. 

“But won’t you be cold?” She questioned nuzzling against him.

“I can’t be cold when I have you to keep me warm” pressing a kiss to her crown, he stroked her face as her eyes slowly shut, “ah- as much I would love to let you sleep, the carriage is not far from home.”

“Tired,” she protested as he poked her nose- a motion she did to wake him up whenever she found him asleep. 

“Besides my little cara mia needs to tell me when she learned to speak such tongue,” he chuckled, his laugh infectious as ever, making  her smile against him.

“I already told you,” her eyes opened as she peered up, pressing a kiss to his lips, “from you.”

“Hmm, I doubt that very much,” he teased, letting her head bury itself in the crook of his neck, enloping her in warmth with the scent of orange and sex. “You did so well this evening, my little vixen.”

“Thank you for indulging with me. I had fun.” Her eyes sparkled at the admiration he poured down on her with his smile.

“Anytime my love. It was rather adventurous to see you so bold, especially when you pulled me out of the bar and begged me to take you-,“ his sentence cut off by her hand playfully slapping his chest.

“You don’t need to repeat that!” Her face stained red; the persona of the bold stranger dropping as she melted back into her more bashful, teasing manner-the side Leonardo loved more than anything. He loved her utterly; entirely. His little human, his cara mia.

“Ti amo tanto,” she whispered with a yawn, moaning softly as he stroked her hair in a soothing manner. Both embellishing in their time they had together, two lovers purely infatuated with each other as their love reached out to touch the stars and back.

“Ti amo cara mia.”

Kinktober masterlist here.

[sunjaesol]

baby, you ain't being slick

juke | human!au + strangers | title: juice // lizzo 

He didn’t want to be here. Alas, his friends could be persuasive if they wanted to. 

After a shit day in the studio, another rejection letter from agencies all around, contrived lyrics scratched on lined paper and one sugar crash, Alex and Reggie decided to go to a karaoke bar. Of all places they could go to take the edge off, they decide on an establishment that would literally be his cause of death. Luke despised karaoke bars. Why listen to drunk people blabber lyrics they didn’t know (nor cared about) into a shitty mic at two am while sipping on an equally shitty margarita? Why torture himself with music when music itself was kicking his butt as of late? 

But then Alex told him mocking drunk people was fun and Reggie begged for a chance to sing ABBA, so Luke couldn’t refuse. He already acted like a douche enough today. 

So there he sat, on a barstool at Neon Affluenza on a Wednesday night peering into the aforementioned shitty margarita. The place recently opened and has gotten pretty good reviews, Luke quietly admitting that the vibe of the bar was pretty dope. Dark walls and black hardfloor flooring, dimmed lights and purple LED giving everyone a mysterious glow. The stage was small, as usual, with an underpaid DJ on the side playing the tracks. It was packed, loud chatter and clinking glasses overpowering the slurring words of the heavy-lidded, burly man onstage working his way through a Céline Dion track. Luke wondered for a second if the singer thought about how many people butchered her song and brought slander to her name every second of the night in all the karaoke bars all over the world. Oh well. At least she had a record deal and, you know, any significance. 

Alex sat next to him, grinning face illuminated as he texted Willie, as Luke lazily let his gaze drift across the room. The man has stopped and gotten a weak applause, the next person ascending the stage and singing - Jesus fucking Christ, kill him now - “Firework” by Katy Perry. This night truly was the worst. 

It didn’t help that for some reason, three girls have come up to him. Was this an ongoing bet from one friend group or something? To see which one of the girls could crack him? Any other night, he would’ve relished the attention, maybe even chatted one up enough to go home with. Flirting was second nature to Luke. The third girl was his type too! When he rejected her avances, she just shrugged and continued her way to Reggie. Which, he must admit, was a pretty confident move on her part. Regardless - Luke wasn’t in the mood and nothing, or no one, would change that. (Maybe he could sneak back to the studio...)       

“Excuse me-” A female voice called out, tapping his arm. 

He rolled his eyes. “Not interested.”

She scoffed. “You’re sitting on my jacket, asshole.”

Turning to face her, he froze for a beat. His unimpressed glare turned surprised at how pretty she was. Like, “double take on the street”-pretty. If he thought the girl from before was his type, he was mistaken. This was his type. She regarded him with minimal interest, brows raised and arms crossed. 

“So?”

His reply stuttered out slowly. “Uh... huh?” Awesome. He was twenty-three and unable to speak to a pretty girl like some pimply eleven year old playing spin the bottle for the first time. 

She tugged on his stool and - oh. The stool wasn’t leather, it was suede. He was sitting on her leather jacket. Shit. He terribly hoped he didn’t have butt sweat, or else mortification would take him out and not the piercing belt of the drunk singer. Either way, he embarrassed himself. 

“Shit!” He rushed from his chair and held the garment out for her. “Sorry!”  

With a sneer, she grabbed it from his grasp, fingers brushing and letting heat ripple up his arm. Holy shit. Yup. The night took a turn. He had to know who she was. 

She pulled the jacket on. “Thanks, I guess...” Just as she was about to disappear back in the throng of drunkards, he called out for her. 

“Uh, hey! I didn’t get a name!”

The girl turned around, an amused - hella attractive - expression flitting across her face (damn, in what factory did they make her?), and tracked his body with her eyes. Instinctively fixing his slouch, he hoped she was into that punk-rocker aesthetic. That jacket was sort of a clue, right? 

An ironic smile tugged on her lips. “Thought you weren’t interested, loverboy.”

Oh, fuck. His flirting game found their match and it was wrapped around a 5′4 girl with glossy curls and eyes glinting with challenge. Luke recovered as fast as he could from his whiplash and swaggered over to her, a charming smirk falling on his lips - the one he so often pulled to make the front row fawn. The girl didn’t look away, raising her chin to level his intensity. A giddy feeling spread in his chest. This could be fun. 

“That’s before I knew the leather jacket belonged to a pretty face like yours, princess.”

“Trust me,” she laughed, also attractive. Everything about her was fucking enigmatic. “I’m not a princess.”

He tried again. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”, she shot back. 

He licked his lips, grinning, and held his hand out. He’d gladly bridge this animosity if it got him a name and a number. “I’m Luke.”

His hand was met with cold air, the girl laughing again and showcasing the cute, little gap between her teeth. It should be an imperfection, but it kind of made her better. Jeez, he didn’t even know her! Why she was laughing, however, he didn’t know. He’d lie if he said his ego wasn’t slammed. 

“Are you-?”

“Next up: my girl Julie with Lizzo!” The DJ yelled in the mic, a gaggle in the crowd hooting and whistling. His dream girl winked, throwing a thumb at the stage and shrugging like she felt sorry for interrupting the conversation.  

“That’s my cue. Bye!”

“Wait!” Argh! He didn’t pay attention to the DJ! Now he still didn’t now her name! A beat later, though, the latter words processed. Lizzo. This girl was going to sing... Lizzo? The most revered pipes of the 21st century? Yeesh. Maybe she wasn’t so perfect after all. 

The girl jumped on the stage like she owned it, the first notes of “Juice” booming from the amps, her body moving with the beat. Straightening her jacket and mirroring the smirk he just sported himself, Luke’s throat went dry. 

“Oh.” Alex casually came to stand next to him. “That’s Julie.”

“What?!”

But then she opened her mouth and any sensical thought flew out the window. Her voice was fucking magnificent. Clear, kind of raspy, yet loud and strong and an undercurrent that suggested years of rigorous training. This was not just some girl singing - she was singer. 

If I'm shining, everybody gonna shine I was born like this, don't even gotta try

Her eyes searched across the heads and then stuck on him, that damned smirk widening and sending him a look that would bring any man to his knees. And then, to finish him off, teasingly waved at him as she spit the lyrics. 

I'm like Chardonnay, get better over time Heard you say I'm not the baddest bitch, you lie!

Julie zoomed through the lyrics with ease, dancing and singing like it was breathing, and oozing every bit of confidence a person could have. Cocky nods and flirtatious winks and sinking in her knees to direct a lyric to people in the crowd. He corrected his previous thought: she wasn’t a singer, she was a performer; and she had him stammering. 

All of a sudden, she jumped offstage with the mic, the adoring audience parting for her like the Red Sea and the bartenders brightening the LED’s to give everyone a proper look at what she was doing. Luke should’ve known that one verse wasn’t enough - should’ve known that if he was the Flirt King, Julie was the Flirt Queen. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face though. She was incredible and - fuck it - the coolest girl he’s ever met. 

Coming to a halt right in front of him with that smile meaning checkmate, she obnoxiously pointed at him as she sung the bridge to the audience. 

Somebody come get this man I think he got lost in my DMs, what? My DMs, what? You better come get your man I think he wanna be way more than friends, what? More than friends What you want me to say?

Luke was shaking from laughter, flushing red yet buzzing with exhilaration at this girl putting him in his place. Putting on a show! Where has she been all his life?! 

Before he could snatch her waist, she ran back to the stage to belt out the last chorus with all her might, a dazzling smile breaking through. It was the first genuine, earnest one of the night and... wow.  Julie was breathtaking. 

Alex, unfazed, pressed his phone in his face. “She’s a singer from LA. Thought you’d know her.”

Her song ended, applause so deafening the pedestrians probably heard too, Julie making a silly face and bumping fists with the DJ. She must be a regular here. Weaving her way back to the bar, Luke mustered all his bravado into a laid-back stance and nonchalant smile. He couldn’t hide the mischievous spark in his eye though. That checkmate was still up for grabs. 

“A water, please,” she asked the bartender. Catching her eye, she turned towards him. “Hello again.”

“Gotta admit, Julie-” he leaned back, elbows propped on the bar. “-wasn’t too bad.”

From the way her eyes lingered on the movement, triumph flared in his chest. She came closer, cocking a hip and placing her glass next to his arm. “Ha! I can sing circles around you.”

He leaned in with a grin. “You’d be surprised.”

She didn’t back down. “Is that a challenge?”

“Ask me again in the morning.”

Huffing, she uttered: “What makes you think I’d go home with you?”

“Cause I do ‘wanna be way more than friends’ and, well-” He closed the space between them, calloused fingers tugging on a curl and tucking it behind her ear. Her skin was hot from the lights. For a beat, her resolve waned.“You’re still here.”

Those eyes that have been driving him wild flickered to his lips. He held his breath in anticipation. One night with this girl and some snarky lyrics later and he’d be back on the saddle. This was what he needed to get out of his funk. After, everything would just go back to normal. Right?  

Her lips suddenly grazed his, gaze flicking up and giving him a killer grin. Right - maybe not entirely back to normal. He wouldn’t mind Julie giving him a look like that more often. 

“You got yourself a deal... loverboy.”

@blush-and-books @willexx @unsaid-emily @alexjulies

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

The Love Cruise - by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3: Chapter 1

Or on FF

Tagging: @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

Summary:

When Emma Swan’s boss & co-workers decided they are tired of waiting for her to start dating again, they reluctantly convince her to join them on The Love Cruise, a new experience where singles go to meet and flirt their cares away in the middle of the ocean. Dragging her brother, David along for the ride, she embarked on a two-week adventure that was about to change her life.

Killian Jones, former Navy Lieutenant and widower, swore off dating for the rest of his life. Which is why when his best friend Robin convinced him to take a job as the Captain of the newest ship in the fleet, a floating dating cesspool of horny men and women, it seemed a cruel twist of fate. Little did he know, one of the guests about to board his ship, would alter his own course in life forever.

Chapter 1: The Adventure of a Lifetime

“First he runs off and gets married and then he goes and gets himself a promotion. I guess you would say the world is his oyster.”

“Or he’s having his cake and eating it to.” The man at the back of the bar shouts.

“Aye, so today as we celebrate, I want everyone to raise your glass to our newest Lieutenant, and my little brother, Killian Jones. I’m so proud of you.”

“To Killian Jones.” The crowd roared.

 5 years later

“That’s not how I remember it at all, I’m pretty sure you were the one who walked in on them.”

“I would have remembered that.”

“I doubt that, you were drunk as a skunk and before you left the room, you yelled to the poor girl, and I quote, I'm no weatherman but I know you're going to get 3 inches tonight.”

“God, I thought you said that.”

“That was all you man, I thought the Captain was gonna throw you in the brig.”

“I’m pretty sure Liam saved my ass that night.” Killian laughed, remembering how many times his brother kept him out of trouble in his years in the Navy.

“I think Liam saved your ass most nights.”

“Aye.” He nodded sadly and Robin held up his glass.

“To Liam, gone too soon.”

“To Liam.” He swallowed the warm liquid, gulping it down and putting his glass back on the table in front of him. “I can’t believe it’s been two years.” He added solemnly, memories of his brother’s urn as he was released out to sea, being presented with the flag, the sound of each pop of the as the rifles went off, staring out to sea to the sound of the bugle.

“Sometimes it feels like yesterday.” Robin responded and Killian closed his eyes, pinched his nose, before shaking off the memories and waiving the waitress over for another order. “So, what’s your next move?”

Killian sighed. “I don’t know yet, I’ve got a few interviews this week.”

Robin cut him off, “Cancel them.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to cancel all my interviews?”

“Yes, cancel them, I have a great opportunity for both of us.”

“Working together?”

“Yes, I told you that I got a job last week, right? Well, they need a Captain and I put in a good word for you.” Killian knew he had gotten some amazing opportunity the last time they spoke on the phone, but he didn’t provide many details on what exactly that opportunity was.

“What’s the catch?” Killian regarded him suspiciously.

“Why does there have to be a catch?” He smiled innocently.

“Because you would have told me about it sooner unless you’ve been trying to figure out the best way to bring it up. And you conveniently chose a night when we have been drinking heavily, so that tells me there is a catch, Rob. So, spit it out.”

“Ok, so there’s a catch, but hear me out first.” Killian groaned but put his hand to his lips with a locking motion and gestured for him to continue. “She’s the newest ship in the fleet, top of the line technology, she would be any Captain’s wet dream to sail.” Killian chuckled, sitting up on his stool. “3600 passengers, 1300 crew members, including the best purser any ship could ask for.” He grinned widely pointing to himself.

“Get to the part where you tell me this ship sails to the Underworld and has an excursion to visit Hades himself or some other ungodly reason to explain why you waited til I was piss drunk to ask me.”

“Ok, but I haven’t even told you about the size of the Captain’s quarters yet…” Robin frowned as he shifted impatiently in his seat. “Alright, it’s the maiden voyage of…” He covered his mouth, “The wurv ruse.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“Fine, it’s a Love Cruise.” He shouted louder than he meant to. “One of those singles cruises where people go to meet each other.”

He tossed a brochure down onto the table and Killian flipped through it, his groan vibrating as he read the tag line out loud. “The Love Cruise, where singles meet on the adventure of a lifetime. Don’t you deserve a little TLC.” He tossed the brochure onto the table. “Oh, bloody hell.” He cursed. “Ma’am…” He gestured for the waitress. “I’m not fucking drunk enough to listen to this man anymore, if you could please bring a few more of those shots as quick as possible and make them doubles.” He added before turning back to Robin. “Are you out of your mind? What would give you the foggiest reason to think I would be interested in this?”

“It’s not like you would be signing up to be part of the singles cruise, you would just Captain her.”

“Why are you doing this?” He asked suspiciously. “You and Marian have been divorced for years and it’s not like you’re desperate for women.” His friend glanced to the table and Killian knew there was more he wasn’t telling him. “Out with it.”

“You know that woman I met last year?”

Killian chuckled, “How long do I have to answer, mate. You’re going to have to be more specific than that?”

“You’re hilarious. No, remember that entertainer I met when we took that cruise to Mexico last year, Regina Mills.”

“The lass we met who threw her drink in your face and told you to get lost? How can I forget, she’s given me months of pleasure just thinking about that moment.”

“Anyway, they hired her as the Cruise Director for this sailing, and it’s my opportunity to actually get to know her. You know because she won’t have anywhere else to go to continue avoiding me.”

“So, your selling point is that if I Captain this ship, I might get to see this woman destroy you on a daily basis?”

“Would it convince you to say yes?”

“I don’t know.”

“Killian it’s been three years. If you want to be celibate for the rest of your life, that’s your business, but you’d be an idiot to pass up this opportunity.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket and slid it across the table. On it was a six-figure dollar amount, Killian grabbed the paper and pulled it closer to his face.

“How many years is the contract for this amount?”

“That’s per year, Killian.”

“Bloody hell.”

“It’s a lot more than the Navy paid us, and no one is going to be trying to sink our ship.”

He pushed the paper back across the table to Robin. “I just don’t know if this is a good idea, I have responsibilities here.”

“Brother, Milah wouldn’t want you hiding out on that damn houseboat, rotting away in your own depression. She’d kick you in the ass and tell you that you were being a bloody prat for walking away from this kind of opportunity.”

“Don’t invoke my dead wife, Mate.” He said angrily. Robin raised his hands in defeat and Killian knew he meant no harm. He sighed and looked over at the paper again. It was more money than he had seen in his entire life, and it was a real ship. He’d been working as Skipper on a fishing skiff for the last year, and while he enjoyed the security of being out on the water, it sure didn’t pay much.

“You know there’s no rule that says the Captain has to date the passengers, in fact, I’m pretty sure they frown on that type of behavior?”

“I get that, but I don’t particularly want to watch all the debauchery either.”

“I told you the Captain’s quarters are huge, right?”

“And they know about my hand?” He looked down at his scarred hand, he had lost the full use of it on one of the worst nights of his life, the night he lost his brother.

“They don’t care, you are a skilled Captain, trust me, they are very interested in you, Killian. All you have to do is be at the interview tomorrow, and the job is yours.”

Killian groaned, “I’ll sleep on it.” Judging by the smile his friend was displaying on the other end of the table, he already knew that Killian was going to show up to that interview.

~*~

“Have you seen that guy before?” Ruby walked over to Emma’s spot by the front door.

Emma glanced to the end of the bar. She hadn’t noticed the man until Ruby pointed him out. He wasn’t familiar to her, he was very nice looking, but also very intoxicated. “Don’t recognize him, but Will needs to cut him off.”

“That’s what you’re focused on, instead of how hot he is or the fact he’s new in town?”

“He’s ok, I guess. But honestly, I’m going to go tell Will to stop serving him. I don’t want to have to throw him out later.”

“Boo, you’re so boring, Emma.”

Emma turned and flashed her friend the middle finger before approaching the bar. “Hey, brown suede jacket.” She pointed to the man at the end of the bar. “How many has he had?”

“Oi, I was thinking of cutting him off. He’s been nursing that beer for an hour, but the three shots he drank with them seem to have accelerated his inebriation.”

“Yeah, cut him off, he’s swaying in his seat, let me know if he gives you any trouble.”

Emma walked back toward the door, surveying the tables as she walked past. She’d been working at The Wooden Nickle since moving back to Boston from New York almost seven years ago. Working nights as a bouncer wasn’t the most prestigious job in the world, but it allowed her to spend her days with her 6-year-old son, Henry.

“Everything good down here?”

Emma turned to see her boss; August Booth walking down the stairs from the above office. “Yeah, got a live one at the bar, Will’s already cut him off. I had to break up the two over at the pool table a few times.” She gestured to the man and woman currently making out against the wall. “I’m gonna head back there in a minute, before they start losing clothes.”

“I can always count on you, Emma.” August gave her a light tap on the shoulder and then headed back upstairs. “Tell everyone I want to talk to them before we shut down tonight.”

“Everything alright, boss?” He nodded with a mischievous smile and then bounded up the stairs.

She loved working for August. When she moved back to Boston, she hadn’t maintained a relationship with anyone except her brother, David, and her high school friends, Ruby and Will. Moving to a small town meant her skills as a bail bond agent wasn’t exactly needed, but August found room for her as a bouncer at his tiny but very busy bar. He’d treated her like family ever since.

She passed through the room, pausing at the couple in the back, to break up their make out session and then stopped at the bar. “Aug wants to talk to all of us after we close up.”

“Oi, did he seem upset? Shit, I bet he knows I was nipping at the whiskey last week.”

“What are we talking about?” Ruby approached and sat down her tray on the bar top. “Are we drinking whiskey?”

Emma laughed. “Aug wants to talk to all of us tonight, so I would probably say no, right?”

“That was a question, not a demand, so I say one shot can’t hurt us. If we’re all about to be canned, I want to take the news with some liquid courage.”

“You’ll use any excuse to drink whiskey.” Ruby mocked as he lined up the shots and poured. They each tossed back the glass and slammed it down on the bar.

“Ok get back to work.” She demanded with a smirk and headed back to the door to prepare for the close of shift. It was her favorite part of work, watching as the patrons exited the bar, some joyfully laughing, others grumbling with complaints of the upcoming next day, but mostly it was the time when they were alone, simply cleaning the bar and laughing together that she cherished the most. This was her family, and she loved them dearly.

“All clear.” She hollered an hour later as she finished helping the tipsy customer to a cab and reminded the overly zealous couple to remember condoms.

Ruby turned up the volume on the music and they spent the next hour cleaning the bar, Ruby dancing with her broomstick, Will singing loudly into the beer tap, and Emma watching them all with a smile as she wiped down the tables. She could hardly believe how much her life had changed in the last seven years. Ruby referred to these last few years as the years AN.

After Neal.

She had been devastated when Neal took off, draining their savings account of the money she had earned, leaving her alone and pregnant in New York City. Two months later, she came home with her tail between her legs, everything she owned in her tiny yellow beetle, and was left to explain to her brother David, that things with her and Neal had gone exactly how he had predicted they would.

She had been mortified to venture out of the home she shared with David for fear of judgement from their small town. Instead, she was embraced by old friends who came out of the woodwork to donate baby clothes, feed her, and offer emotional support.

“When did I start paying you lot to have a good time?” August boomed from across the room before breaking out into a smile and pulling Emma into his arms to dance across the room. He spun her around as they reached Ruby, switching to dance with the brunette until the song ended.

“The place looks great as usual.” He remarked to the three of them as he hopped onto one of the bar stools. “Come on, lets all chat.” Will gulped and August laughed. “This isn’t about the whiskey, Will.”

“What whiskey?” Will mimed. “I haven’t the foggiest idea…”

“I’m closing the bar.” Emma’s heart dropped. August sat solemnly looking down at his hands. He looked up peering around the room as a smile grew on his mouth. “For two weeks,” he added, “and before you all freak out on me, I’m still paying you.”

Emma breathed out a sigh of relief. Losing two weeks of pay would have killed her. She lived paycheck to paycheck trying to raise her son, missing a single day was enough to give her anxiety.

“On one condition.” He added and everyone in the group exchanged cautious glances. “We’ve all been working really hard and I wouldn’t have any of this if you all didn’t come to work every single day, even with William drinking my whiskey.” Will ducked his head. “However as much as I love you guys, I’m really tired of being alone.”

Emma was surprised to hear how sad August’s voice sounded; she knew he had been alone at home after his father Marco had passed. Emma had never heard of August going on any dates, or ever being involved with anyone romantically. But Emma wasn’t one to talk about putting yourself out there, she hadn’t dated or wanted to date anyone since Neal ran out on her.

“And let’s be honest,” August continued, “you lot don’t get out much either.”

“Hey, I’m just waiting until Ana comes around.” Will argued and she snorted to herself. Ana was Will’s ex-girlfriend. She had packed up and left town a year ago, leaving only a note stating it was over and she was moving to England with a guy she met online. Everyone knew it was over, except for Will. He still had his Facebook relationship status as “It’s complicated.”

“She’s gone man, it’s time to move on.” August said seriously. “And Ruby, I mean no offense when I say this, but you’ve practically dated everyone in town, present company excluded.”

“Speak for yourself, we went on a date once.” Will announced.

“That was a field trip you idiot, and the rest of the school was with us.”

“Ok but my point is, no one in town has been worthy of your affection.” August interrupted and then turned to her, “And Emma.”

“Don’t even go there, I have a six-year-old kid, I don’t have time for another child in my life.”

“Well, here it is, I’m going on a cruise for two weeks. And I’m willing to pay you each your two-week salary, as long as you come with me.”

“Oi, do you think you pay us enough money to afford to go on some fancy cruise ship?”

“Nope, that’s why I’m paying for that too.” He stared at Emma. “But it has to be all or nothing. Either you all come, or you all get a two-week unpaid vacation.”

“That’s hardly fair.” Emma complained. “I can’t just walk away for two weeks, Henry needs me.”

“First off, I already know that he’s about to head to summer camp for four weeks, so your excuse doesn’t exactly work.” Emma crossed her arms against her chest, she hadn’t expected him to know about that. “Ok, one excuse down, who’s next?”

“You aren’t going to get one from me. If you want to pay me to go on a cruise, I’m down.” Ruby hopped up on the bar.

“What’s the catch, Mate? Two weeks pay, a cruise vacation, something’s not adding up here.” Emma had to agree with Will, he wasn’t telling them the entire truth.

“Fine, it’s a singles cruise.”

“No way, I’m out.” Emma grunted, as she furiously wiped down the table in front of her for the second time that evening.

“Oh, come on Emma, who cares? There is nothing that says you have to hook up with anyone there.” Ruby pleaded, “I really want to try out my new bikini I bought last week. It would look so much better on a cruise ship than it would on our stupid beach.”

“I can’t go on a single’s cruise, I’m not single.” Will argued.

“She dumped you.” The three of them all shouted in unison.

“Come on you guys, we can all be there together, and just have fun.” Ruby continued to plead her case.

“Did I mention the alcohol is all paid for up front?” August announced with a wink.

“Bloody hell, I’m in.”

Suddenly all eyes were on here. “Please Emma.” Ruby whined.

“Free Alcohol, lass. We can just sit at the damn bar and drink all day. I’ll be your date.” Will flirted from the back of the bar.

“Brining a date would defeat the singles part, don’t you think?”

“Emma, you’re out of excuses.” August shrugged.

“Fine. But I have one condition.” She said angrily, coming up with a fool proof plan to get out of going. “If I’m going to be forced to go on this trip, then I’m not going without David.”

August laughed and surprisingly shook his head. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Dammit.